purpose?' The big dog grinned down at me.
I shivered and tottered to my feet. 'Who are you?' I asked, unable to stifle a yawn. I stretched stiff limbs, my front legs going down on the ground, my back pushing my rump into the air as far as it could go.
'Rumbo's what they call me. You got a name?'
I shook my head. 'I might have. I can't remember it, though.'
The dog regarded me silently for a few moments, then had a sniff around me.
'There's something funny about you,' he announced finally.
I gulped at the understatement. 'You don't seem like the other dogs I know either,' I said. And he wasn't, I could sense it immediately. He was somehow brighter, or un-doglike, or ... more human.
'We're all different. Some are more dopey than others, that's all. But with you it's something else. You're definitely a dog, aren't you?'
I nearly blurted out my problems to him there and then, but he suddenly lost interest in that line of Page 26
thought and directed my own on to a much more basic level. 'You hungry?' he asked.
Only ravenous, I thought, nodding my head sharply.
'Come on, then, let's go and find something.' He turned away and was off down the road at a brisk pace. I had to scamper to catch up with him.
He was a bony mongrel, about five or six years old, an amalgamation of several breeds. Imagine a Dalmatian without spots, just black all over, and without elegant lines, with turned-in toes, cow-hocked hindquarters, excessive angulation of the back legs (they stuck out backwards too far) and weak pasterns, then you'd have a fair impression of Rumbo. He certainly wasn't ugly - not to me anyway - but he wouldn't have won any prizes, either.
'Come on, pup!' he called over his shoulder. 'We don't want to be late for breakfast!'
I drew level with him and said breathlessly, 'Do you think we could stop for just a minute, I need to do something?'
'What? Oh yes, all right.' He stopped and I squatted on the ground before him. He turned away in disgust and trotted over to a nearby lamp-post, cocked his leg and relieved himself in a professional manner. 'You'll avoid accidents if you do it this way,' he called over, as I tried to shift a leg that was being threatened by a spreading puddle.
I smiled back feebly, grateful that the streets were fairly empty and no human could see me in this undignified pose. It was the first time I'd felt self-conscious about that sort of thing, a sign of the dog versus human instinct conflict that was going on inside me.
Rumbo came over and sniffed mine and I went over to the lamp-post and sniffed his. When we were both satisfied, we went on our way.
'Where are we going?' I asked him, but he ignored me, his step becoming faster, excitement tightening his movements. Then I caught the first whiff of food, and my attention was captured.
The roads were busier now, yet the noise and the bustle didn't seem to bother Rumbo at all. I stuck as close to him as possible, my shoulder occasionally bumping against his thigh. The roads still frightened me; the buses seemed like mobile blocks of flats and the cars like charging elephants. My supersensitive vision didn't help matters much, the blinding colours heightening my fears, but nothing seemed to bother Rumbo. He skilfully avoided pedestrians and used crossings to negotiate the dangerous roads, always waiting for a human to cross first, then trailing behind him, with me trying to become an extension of his body.
We reached a thunderous place where, even though it was still early morning, there were masses of people, hustling, bustling, hurrying - worrying. The noise was deafening, with men shouting, lorries hooting and hand-pulled barrows grinding along the concrete. Rich scents filled the air - the tang of many different fruits, the more earthy smell of vegetables, raw potatoes. If it hadn't been for the apparent chaos, I would have believed I'd found Heaven.
We were in a market, not a street-market, but a covered wholesale market, where restaurateurs,
I shivered and tottered to my feet. 'Who are you?' I asked, unable to stifle a yawn. I stretched stiff limbs, my front legs going down on the ground, my back pushing my rump into the air as far as it could go.
'Rumbo's what they call me. You got a name?'
I shook my head. 'I might have. I can't remember it, though.'
The dog regarded me silently for a few moments, then had a sniff around me.
'There's something funny about you,' he announced finally.
I gulped at the understatement. 'You don't seem like the other dogs I know either,' I said. And he wasn't, I could sense it immediately. He was somehow brighter, or un-doglike, or ... more human.
'We're all different. Some are more dopey than others, that's all. But with you it's something else. You're definitely a dog, aren't you?'
I nearly blurted out my problems to him there and then, but he suddenly lost interest in that line of Page 26
thought and directed my own on to a much more basic level. 'You hungry?' he asked.
Only ravenous, I thought, nodding my head sharply.
'Come on, then, let's go and find something.' He turned away and was off down the road at a brisk pace. I had to scamper to catch up with him.
He was a bony mongrel, about five or six years old, an amalgamation of several breeds. Imagine a Dalmatian without spots, just black all over, and without elegant lines, with turned-in toes, cow-hocked hindquarters, excessive angulation of the back legs (they stuck out backwards too far) and weak pasterns, then you'd have a fair impression of Rumbo. He certainly wasn't ugly - not to me anyway - but he wouldn't have won any prizes, either.
'Come on, pup!' he called over his shoulder. 'We don't want to be late for breakfast!'
I drew level with him and said breathlessly, 'Do you think we could stop for just a minute, I need to do something?'
'What? Oh yes, all right.' He stopped and I squatted on the ground before him. He turned away in disgust and trotted over to a nearby lamp-post, cocked his leg and relieved himself in a professional manner. 'You'll avoid accidents if you do it this way,' he called over, as I tried to shift a leg that was being threatened by a spreading puddle.
I smiled back feebly, grateful that the streets were fairly empty and no human could see me in this undignified pose. It was the first time I'd felt self-conscious about that sort of thing, a sign of the dog versus human instinct conflict that was going on inside me.
Rumbo came over and sniffed mine and I went over to the lamp-post and sniffed his. When we were both satisfied, we went on our way.
'Where are we going?' I asked him, but he ignored me, his step becoming faster, excitement tightening his movements. Then I caught the first whiff of food, and my attention was captured.
The roads were busier now, yet the noise and the bustle didn't seem to bother Rumbo at all. I stuck as close to him as possible, my shoulder occasionally bumping against his thigh. The roads still frightened me; the buses seemed like mobile blocks of flats and the cars like charging elephants. My supersensitive vision didn't help matters much, the blinding colours heightening my fears, but nothing seemed to bother Rumbo. He skilfully avoided pedestrians and used crossings to negotiate the dangerous roads, always waiting for a human to cross first, then trailing behind him, with me trying to become an extension of his body.
We reached a thunderous place where, even though it was still early morning, there were masses of people, hustling, bustling, hurrying - worrying. The noise was deafening, with men shouting, lorries hooting and hand-pulled barrows grinding along the concrete. Rich scents filled the air - the tang of many different fruits, the more earthy smell of vegetables, raw potatoes. If it hadn't been for the apparent chaos, I would have believed I'd found Heaven.
We were in a market, not a street-market, but a covered wholesale market, where restaurateurs,
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