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Even when he was a puppy, I was always scared of Paddy. Always.
Granny and Peter had four pets. The two cats were called Catia and Toffee. Catia was grey with short hair. She was also very grumpy and scratched a lot – she scratched me a few times, although usually I was pulling her tail. She was so gloomy she reminded me of a raincloud. Toffee was white and fluffy with golden-brown patches, and he liked to be stroked, and he didn’t scratch. Catia used to attack him a lot.
The dogs were black and white sheepdogs, and Peter had got them for work, not as pets. Granny and Peter got Paddy as a new puppy when I was three years old. He was the first sheep dog they bought after they married. Even at that size he frightened me. One day, I was sitting in the kitchen at the table, drawing with felt tip pens. My granny was cooking lunch. Paddy’s basket was behind my chair near the big cupboard. While I was drawing he started running under my chair and around my feet, nipping at me. I kept kicking at him.
“Get doon, Paddy,” I said sharply. He didn’t get down.
“Laeve him be,” Granny said.
I didn’t think that was fair. I was trying to leave him be. He was the one who wouldn’t leave me be.
It got worse when he got bigger. When he got to be a certain size he wasn’t allowed in the house any more. Peter didn’t believe in dogs being allowed in the house, even if they were being kept as pets. This didn’t stop Paddy sneaking into the garden sometimes. Granny and Peter also got another sheepdog, Cap. He was already full grown when they got him. Cap was thinner than Paddy, and while Paddy had big black patches over both eyes and most of his nose – like a highwayman’s mask – Cap only had a big black patch over his right eye. He didn’t like me or my brother – indeed any children – and would only listen to Peter.
I didn’t know when I was five that Paddy jumping on me was his way of being friendly. I just knew he was bigger than me, way bigger, and no matter how often Mam, Dad, Granny or Peter tried to reassure me it didn’t help. Usually when Paddy jumped on me he smothered me or knocked me down, or sometimes both which was really horrible. I would scream with terror and would end up needing gathered up in somebody’s arms, usually Mam’s or Granny’s, and calming down took ages. It started to spoil visits to Granny’s. I started to wish harm on Paddy. I used to like sitting in the house with the cats, stroking them both, even though Catia didn’t really like being stroked. When I was in the house, Paddy couldn’t get me. Cap was a different story. He didn’t like me and I didn’t really like him either. We understood each other, and so we just left each other alone. But Paddy didn’t seem to care that I didn’t like him. When I got a bit bigger he wasn’t able to knock me down any more, but then he scratched me a few times, and more often than not, he made me cry. Granny and Peter usually just told me the same thing, he didn’t mean to hurt me and just wanted to be stroked. I would stroke him, and it usually worked, but I still didn’t like how he seemed to win against me all the time.
I spent a lot of time at Granny’s in the summer holidays. One day, when I was nine, I got left there when my mam and dad were at work. My granny sent me out to her greenhouse to get her gardening gloves. The greenhouse was to the left of the house, and to get there I had to walk to the other end of the garden. I wasn’t going to take the long way that involved going out the front gate because Peter had slipped the dogs from their chains, and I wasn’t going to have Paddy jump on me when I was just trying to get to the greenhouse.
I looked out the front door. Paddy’s kennel was empty and he wasn’t anywhere near it. Oh good, I thought – he’s herding sheep with Cap and Peter, he won’t see me. All the same, when I went up the path, instead of going up the steps to the front gate I went left and took the path to the side gate. I stepped through it and closed it, but when I turned around, Paddy was right there in front of me, watching me with those big brown eyes of his – he’d have been cute if he wasn’t so scary. I froze. He was going to jump on me again. Or scratch me, maybe both.
“Go away, Paddy,” I said loudly.
Paddy did the opposite. I felt angry with Mam, Dad, Granny and Peter now. What did they think they were talking about? Of course Paddy meant to do what he was doing. Why else would he do it after being told to stop?
Paddy started sniffing at me. I warned him again. “Go away.”
Then he jumped up.
I dodged him, but he jumped up again. I turned my back to him – Mam told me that works with dogs when they jump up on you. But of course it didn’t work with Paddy. Right, I thought.
He jumped up again.
“Get doon, Paddy,” I shouted, and I suddenly pushed him.
He fell backwards, although he landed on his paws. He looked really shocked. I was a bit shocked too. He looked at me, really hurt, then he stalked off with his tail between his legs.
I watched him go, then went into the greenhouse to get Granny’s gloves. When I came back, she asked me if I was okay. I said I was, and I meant it.
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