Dogsbody. Diana Wynne Jones
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They were so big that he found it hard to focus on them.
“Funny tail!” said Kathleen, laughing.
“Funny eyes!” said Robin. “Kathleen, its eyes are green. Dogs don’t have green eyes, do they? Do you think it’s something else?”
“I know it’s a puppy,” said Kathleen.
“Basil’s going to say it’s a cat,” said Robin. “He’ll call it Shamus O’Cat, I know he will.”
“Let him,” Kathleen said recklessly. It was the only way she could express the feeling the puppy’s eyes gave her.
They were like grass-green drops in its round head, shining and deep. On top of the green was that milkiness that the eyes of all young creatures have, and she could tell that the puppy was finding it hard to see her. But, somewhere in the green depths, she had a glimpse of something huge and wonderful which made her almost feel respectful.
“Why not call it Shamus?” Robin suggested. “Then you’d get in first before Basil does.”
“That’s a silly name,” said Kathleen.
“Then you ought to give it a cat sort of name. How about Leo? That means a lion.”
“I think lions have yellow eyes,” Kathleen said dubiously. “But it’s more majestic than Shamus. I’ll think about it while I give him his bottle.”
She presented Sirius with a rubbery nozzle leaking milk. He fastened on it gladly, and Kathleen fed him tenderly – and far too much. Sirius was sick. It did not trouble him particularly, but Kathleen seemed to have a great deal of clearing up to do. And while she was clearing up, Sirius became aware of another presence.
This being was large – at least as large as Kathleen and Robin put together – and reminded him, just a little, of the woman called Mrs Partridge who had ordered the youth to drown him. She had the same certainty that she would get her own way. And she had – Sirius sensed at once – the same dislike of him. He cowered in the corner of the fender, feeling very small and helpless, while a hard, high voice beat the air about him. It was a voice that was at once very cold and full of all sorts of strong emotions.
“…bringing this filthy animal into my house without so much as a by your leave … not a scrap of consideration for my feelings … letting it make a mess all over the hearthrug, and goodness knows what germs it’s let loose. And what about the cats? You are a very thoughtless little girl, Kathleen. Lord knows, I’ve regretted every minute since Harry insisted on foisting you on me, but this is the last straw! It’s no good sitting there with that mulish look on your face, Kathleen. Robin, take the filthy little beast outside and drown it in the water-butt.”
“But, Duffie, somebody’d tried to drown him in the river!” Kathleen protested tremulously.
“Whoever it was had more sense than you!” the being called Duffie retorted. “Just look at the mess! Robin, you heard me!”
“I’m clearing the mess up,” Kathleen said miserably. “I’ll clear up any mess he makes, ever.”
“It’s because he’s only little, Mum,” Robin explained. “He didn’t know when he’d had enough. But he’ll be awfully useful when he grows up. What if burglars get in your shop?”
“There’s a perfectly good burglar-alarm. For once and for all, I am not having a dirty dog in my house!”
“Please, Duffie, let me keep him,” Kathleen pleaded. “I’ll make sure he isn’t dirty. He can be for a birthday present. I haven’t had one yet.”
This made the owner of the cold voice pause. She gave a nasty sigh of annoyance that raised the hair along Sirius’s back. “And feed it and buy it a licence and walk it and house-train it! I’d like to see a little sloven like you do all that! No.”
“If you let me keep him,” Kathleen said desperately, “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll do all the housework and cook the meals, and everything. I promise.”
There was another pause. “Well,” said the cold voice. “I suppose it’ll save me… All right. Keep the filthy thing. But don’t blame me if the cats tear it to pieces.”
Then the large being was gone and the air was peaceful again. Sirius found himself being picked up and hugged.
“Careful. You’ll make him sick again,” said Robin, and he wandered hastily off, for fear there might be more clearing up to do.
“You’ll be good, won’t you? I know you will,” Kathleen whispered to Sirius. Wet drops fell on his head and he wriggled. “You’ll be my very own faithful hound. I know you’re special, because of your eyes. We’ll have adventures together. And don’t you mind those cats. I’ll see they don’t hurt you.” Kathleen put Sirius gently back in his basket again and he fell asleep.
By the evening, he was recovered enough to scramble out and go exploring. He went, rocking on his four unsteady paws, with his fluffy string of a tail whipping backwards and forwards to keep his balance, in among the feet of the family. His nose glistened from all the new scents. The cats sat high up on shelves or tables, watching him resentfully. Sirius could feel their annoyance, but he could also feel that they did not dare do anything while the people were there, so he took no notice of them and concentrated on the feet. The children’s feet had cloth and rubbery stuff over them. Robin’s and Kathleen’s were much the same size, but the cloth on Kathleen’s was old and frayed. Basil’s feet were surprisingly large. While Sirius was sniffing them, Basil leant down and called him Shamus O’Cat.
“I’m thinking of calling him Leo, really,” said Kathleen.
“Rat would be better,” said Basil. “Shamus Rat.”
“Told you so,” said Robin.
There was a new pair of feet present belonging to someone Basil and Robin called Dad, and Kathleen called Uncle Harry. They were the largest feet of all, most interestingly cased in leather, with beautiful strings which came undone when they were bitten. Sirius backed away, his tail whipping, rumbling with delight, a taut shoelace clenched between his teeth.
A voice spoke, more like a clap of thunder than a voice. “Drop that!”
Sirius let go at once and meekly went on to the last pair of feet, which were Duffie’s. He did not like Duffie, nor the smell of Duffie, but her feet were interesting. The leather on them was only in straps, leaving the ends bare. The ends of both feet divided into a number of stumpy lumps with hard, flat claws on them that looked quite useless. He nosed them wonderingly.
“Get out of it!” said the cold voice.
Sirius obligingly retreated, and – whether it was his dislike of Duffie or simply a call of nature, he did not know – left a puddle between the two sets of toes.
“Oh Leo!” Kathleen plunged down on the spot with a cloth.
“Dirty Shamus Rat!” said Basil.
“That creature—” began Duffie.
The thunderous voice cut in, rumbling peaceably. “Now, now. You’ve had your say, Duffie. And I say a house isn’t complete without a dog. What did you say his name was, Kathleen?”
Sirius gathered that he was safe. What the thunderous voice said in this place, the other people obeyed. He went on exploring the room while they argued about what to call him.
The argument was never entirely settled. In the days that followed, Sirius found himself answering to Leo, Shamus, Shamus O’Cat, Shamus Rat, Rat, Dog, and That Creature. More names were added as time went on and then dropped. These were the most constant. Basil called him most of them. Duffie called him That Dog or That Creature. Robin usually called him Leo when he was alone with Kathleen, and Shamus if Basil was there. The thunderous voice never called him anything at all. Neither did the cats. Before long,