It was on one such occasion, in fact, that I earned my permanent name. Some of the workmen in the yard had taken to calling me Horace (God knows why, but it seemed to tickle them), and it was a name I detested. They used it in a mocking way and usually - unless they were offering something (which was rare) - I ignored their calls with a nose-up dignity. Even Rumbo, in moments of sarcasm, would call me Horace rather than 'squirt'. In the end, even I was beginning to get used to it.
Page 45
However, the Guvnor had never bothered to give me a name - I was never important enough to him for that - and he really didn't have much cause to refer to me anyway after our initial meeting months before.
I was grateful, at least, that he hadn't picked up this awful nickname from his workmen.
So this is how I got a proper and appropriate name.
A small group of the outsiders had gathered in front of the Guvnor's office - hut - and were awaiting his arrival. Rumbo was away on one of his 'bitch-in-season' jaunts and I was wandering aimlessly around the yard, sulking at being left behind again. I trotted over to the group to see if I could overhear anything of interest (or perhaps to beg for some affection). One of the younger men saw me coming and crouched low, a hand outstretched, to welcome me. 'Ere, boy. Come on.'
I bounced towards him, pleased to be called. 'What's your name, then, eh?'
I didn't want to tell him I was called Horace so I kept quiet and licked his hand.
'Let's 'ave a look at you,' he said, pulling my collar round with his other hand. 'No name on this, is there? Let's see what we've got for you.' He stood up, reaching into his overcoat pocket and my tail began to wag when he produced a small green tube of sweets. He levered a sweet out and held it up for me to see. I went up on my hind legs immediately, mouth gaping for the treat to be dropped into. The man laughed and let the little round sweet fall and I caught it deftly on my tongue, crunching and gulping it down by the time my front legs touched ground again. I jumped up and put my muddy paws against him, asking politely for another; they had a nice minty flavour to them. He was a bit annoyed at the mud on his coat and pushed me down again, brushing at the marks left with his hand. 'Oh no, if you want another one, you've got to earn it. 'Eeyar', catch it.' He threw the mint high into the air and I jumped up to meet it on its downward journey, catching it smartly. The young man laughed and his bored companions began to take an interest. They had been lounging against the car they'd arrived in, a maroon Granada, stamping their feet to keep the circulation flowing, their coat collars turned up against the cold.
'Let's see 'im do it again, Lenny,' one of them said.
The one called Lenny tossed another sweet and again I caught it in mid-air.
'Do it a bit 'igher next time.'
Lenny tossed and I jumped. Success once more.
'You're a clever old thing, aren't you?' said Lenny.
I had to agree; I was feeling quite pleased with myself. As Lenny poised a mint on his thumb and index finger I prepared to repeat my performance.
' 'Old on, Lenny.' A different man spoke this time. 'Make it do somethin' more difficult.'
'Like what?'
The group of men thought hard for a few moments, then one spotted a couple of tin mugs standing on
Page 46
the hut's windowsill. 'Use them,' he said, pointing towards the mugs. 'The old ball-an'-cones trick.'
'Do leave off! It's only a bleedin' dog, you know,' Lenny protested.
'Gorn, see if it can do it.'
He shrugged and walked over to the mugs. The regular yard workers used these for their tea-breaks, but I don't think they would have offered any objection to these men using them for other purposes. In fact, I had noticed that the Guvnor's regular employees kept well away from the business acquaintances of their boss. Lenny placed the two mugs upside-down on an even piece of ground while I nuzzled him for more sweets. He pushed me away and one of the men took hold of my collar to hold me back.
Lenny levered out a little round mint again and, in exaggerated motions, showed it to me, then placed it under one of the mugs. I pulled against the restraining hand, eager to get at the sweet.
Then Lenny did a puzzling thing: he placed a hand on either mug and whirled them in circles around each other, never letting their lips come off the ground. He did it slowly, but even so it was confusing for a mere dog. He stopped and nodded for the other man to let go. I bounded forward and immediately knocked over the mug which held the strong scent of mint.
I couldn't understand the group's cries of amazement and Lenny's delight as I gulped down the sweet. I accepted Lenny's friendly thumps on the back with a wagging tail, pleased that I had pleased him.
'Aah, it was a fluke. The dog couldn't do it again,' one of the men said. He was grinning though.
'Oh yes it could. It's a clever old thing, this pup,' Lenny retorted.
'Let's 'ave some money on it, then.'
The others agreed enthusiastically. It's funny what a group of bored men will find to amuse themselves.
Once again I was held back while Lenny went through his hand-holding-mint ballet. 'All right. A oncer says 'e does it again.' I was no longer an 'it' to Lenny.
'Right.'
'You're on.'
'Suits:
And suddenly four pound notes appeared on the ground. The four men looked at me expectantly.
Lenny went through his mug swirling again and one of the men told him to speed it up. He did, and I must admit he had a definite flair for this sort of thing: the movements were baffling, to the naked eye. But not to the sensitive nose. I had knocked over the mug and swallowed the sweet within three seconds of being released.
'Fantastic! 'E's a bloody marvel.' Lenny was delighted as he scooped up the four pounds.
Page 47
'I still say it was a fluke,' a disgruntled voice muttered.
'Put your money where your mouth is, Ronald, my son.'
The bets were placed again, this time one of the men dropped out. 'He's sniffin' it out, I reckon,' he grumbled. This stopped the action; they hadn't thought of that.
'Nah,' Lenny said after a few moments' thought. ' 'E couldn't smell it with the mug over the top.'
'I dunno, it's pretty strong - peppermint.'
'O.K., O.K. Let's see what else we've got.'
The men rummaged through their pockets but came out with their hands empty. 'Just a minute,' one of them said and turned towards the Granada. He opened the driver's door, reached across the front seat and delved into the glove compartment. He came out with a half-eaten bar of chocolate. 'Keep it in there for the kids,' he said self-consciously. 'Keep the wrapper on so it don't smell so much.' He handed it to Lenny.
My mouth watered at the sight and I had to be firmly held back.
'Fair enough. Let's do it again.' Lenny made sure the wrapping covered all the exposed end of the chocolate and placed it careful beneath a mug. The mug had a nasty-looking grease smear on its base.
The fourth man rejoined the betting and, once more, Lenny's lightning hands went into action. Of course I made straight for the grease-smeared mug.
The chocolate was pulled from my mouth before it could be devoured, but Lenny was more generous with his praise. 'I could make a fortune with this dog,' he told the others, breaking off a tiny square of chocolate and popping it into my mouth. ' 'E's got brains, 'e's not as daft as 'e looks.' I bridled at this but the thought of more chocolate kept me sweet. ' 'Ow'd you like to come back to Edenbridge with me, eh?
Connie and the kids'll love you. I could make a bomb out of some of the locals with you.'
'That's the Guv's dog, 'e won't let you 'ave it,' the one called Ronald said.
' 'E might. 'E's got two.'
'Anyway, I still say it was only luck. No dog's that clever.'
Lenny raised his eyes heavenwards. 'You wanna' see 'im do it again?'
Ronald was a bit more reluctant this time and the sound of a car pulling into the yard saved him from deciding whether to risk another pound or not. A sleek Jaguar stopped behind the Granada and the Guvnor stepped out; he changed his cars with more frequency than most people checked their tyres. He wore a heavy sheepskin coat and, of course, a fat cigar jutted comfortably from his mouth. The men greeted him with a friendliness born out of respect more than liking.
'What you lot up to?' He stuck his hands deep into his coat pockets as he swaggered his way round the Jag to the group.
'Just 'avin' a game with the dog 'ere, Guv,' said Lenny.
Page 48
'Yeah, it's a clever little bugger,' said one of the others.
Lenny seemed hesitant to tell the Guvnor just how clever he thought I was; plans for me were beginning to grow in his mind, I think.
'Nah, it could never do it again, never in a thousand years,' Ronald piped up.
'Do what, Ron?' the Guvnor asked affably.
'Lenny's done 'is ball-and-cones trick and the dog's guessed right every time,' another of the men said.
'Do me a favour!' the Guvnor scoffed.
'Nah, straight,' Lenny said, the thought of making some more instant cash overriding his future money-making plans.
'It must 'ave been a fluke. Dog's ain't that bright.'
'That's what I said, Guv,' Ronald chimed in.
'Yeah, and you lost your money, didn't you, my son,' Lenny grinned.
' Ow much you made so far, Lenny?'
' 'Er, let's see, Guv. Eight pounds in all.'
'All right. Eight more says it don't do it again.' He had style, the Guvnor.
Lenny hesitated for only a second. He chuckled and went down to the mugs again. 'Now then, boy, I'm relyin' on you. Don't let me down.' He looked at me meaningfully. For myself, I was enjoying the game; I liked pleasing this man, I liked him knowing I was no ordinary dog. I wasn't really grovelling for titbits. I was earning them.
Lenny shuffled the cups, even faster than before under the Guvnor's level gaze, but this time he'd placed the chocolate beneath the mug without the grease smear. He finished his intricate hand movements and looked up at the Guvnor. 'O.K.?' he asked.
The Guvnor nodded and Lenny looked across at me. 'O.K., boy, do your stuff.'
And at that moment Rumbo trotted into the yard.
Curiosity drew him over to the group, and when he saw me being held by the collar and the twin mugs set on the ground before me, he screwed up his brow in a puzzled frown. In an instant he had guessed a trick was being performed for the benefit of the men and I, his protégé, the mutt he had taken under his wing, the scruff in which he had tried to instil some dignity, was the star performer. Rising shame burnt my ears and I hung my head. I looked dolefully up at Rumbo, but he just stood there, his disgust apparent.
'Come on, boy,' Lenny urged. 'Get the chocolate. Come on!'
My tail drooped: I had let Rumbo down. He'd always taught me to be my own dog, never become a
Page 49
pet of man, never become inferior to them; and here I was, like some circus animal, performing tricks for their entertainment. I stepped towards the mugs, kicked the empty one over with a paw and trotted away in search of a dark hole in which to bury myself.
Lenny threw his hands up in the air in disgust and the Guvnor chuckled. Ronald, chortling loudly, stooped and picked up the Guvnor's winnings and handed them to him. As I disappeared round the corner of the hut, I heard the Guvnor say: 'I told you it was a fluke. Yeah - fluke. That's a good name for
'im. 'Ey, Georgie,' he called out to one of the yard workers. 'Get the pup's collar and put its name on it.
Fluke! Yeah, that's good!' He was pleased with himself: the money meant nothing, but the scene had made him look good. He was making the most of it. I could still hear him chuckling as he unlocked the office door and the group of men disappeared through it.
So, I had a proper name. And like I say, it was appropriate: Fluke by name, fluke by nature.
Ten
Rumbo never mentioned that incident again. He was a little distant with me for a few days afterwards, but my final action had at least saved me some grace and, because of our need for each other (which Rumbo himself would never have admitted), we were soon back to our old relationship.
Lenny had lost interest in me, his plans for making money out of me dashed by my contrariness. Apart from a rueful grin now and again, he really didn't take much notice of me anymore when he came into the yard. The breaker called Georgie took my collar from me and returned it later. Rumbo told me there were scratch marks on the small metal nameplate and I assumed 'FLUKE' had been inscribed there.
Anyway, that was what they called me in the yard now, and so did the people who petted me in the street once they'd looked at the collar. I was thankful I was no longer known as Horace.
The winter froze on and times for Rumbo and me got leaner. We still made our daily trips to the fruit-market, but our pickings in the shopping-zones had become increasingly more hazardous. The shopkeepers now knew us by sight and would chase us away as soon as we came sniffing around: the cold weather made the housewives more guarded, less friendly. I was fast losing my puppy cuteness (I suppose I was around seven or eight months old by then), and people are less inclined to stop and stroke a gangly mongrel than a plump, furry bundle, so I had become next to useless as a decoy for Rumbo.
However, the hardship made us more cunning, swifter in our attacks, and more resourceful in our methods.
A wild dash through a supermarket usually proved fruitful, provided there was a clear exit. One of us would knock stacks of cans over or generally cause a disturbance while the other would sneak in and grab the nearest edible item at hand. That was always very exciting. A romp around a school playground at lunchtime would inevitably yield a sandwich or two, or perhaps an apple or some chocolate. The pandemonium was lovely. A visit to the local street-market never failed to bring us replenishment for our greedy stomachs. The threats and curses our thieving from there caused was, nevertheless, a little alarming. Moreover, we had become too adventurous, and that led to our downfall.