My name is Charlie. Im a Labrador, a cheeky fellow that everyone finds endearing, though sometimes Im forced to bite the very few who bother me. Look after my backside! I have a mistress, and I love her no matter what she does or who she is. Nothing else matters. I love her, period.
She bought me when I was a pup I was a month old, she was 408 months old. No need for a calculator; thats 34 years. The very next evening she was sitting on the floor of our tiny twobedroom council flat in Manchester, nursing her fourth glass of scarlet wine, stroking my fur and weeping:
Off you trot, you useless mutt. I finally have a dog wholl never betray me. Tell me, Charlie, whats wrong with me? Shed confessed she was a terrible cook, so shed signed up for a French cooking course. She stopped muttering about it. Then she started fussing over my wardrobe, saying I looked like a sack of potatoes in shapeless robes. She overhauled my whole wardrobe, with help from my mum and my gran, who donated piles of their own clothes. She stopped staring at me altogether. Then she hinted at intimacy, saying our life was drab while movies showed people with soul and professionalism. What movies? I asked. Shed spent two months on YouTube watching tutorial videos on oral techniques, buying bananas until she was nearly broke. Gran rescued her again, bringing two buckets of corn. All for him, she muttered, then he left. Charlie, youre my one and only. Dont ever abandon me, okay?
I gazed into her tearstreaked eyes and licked her cheek. What else could I do? I could devour anything, hat and boots included, but a pup cant do much. She hugged me and we fell asleep. I blamed the scarlet wine for everything.
As my little puddles grew across the floor, I seemed to expand too. She poured all her energy into me. I watched a TV programme about fivestar English countryhouse hotels that called themselves allinclusive. During that phase of our lives I reveled in ultraallinclusive bliss: we were fed to the brim, Saturdays brought avocados, and I had no duties beyond escorting my mistress to work each morning and waiting for her return. Honestly, I mostly slept on my hind legs. When she came back shed kiss me, feed me mince, and we were both happy. I love her with all my heart.
Then a lanky bloke appeared, a colleague from work. He came after a cinema outing, knocked back scarlet wine in the kitchen, and retired to the bedroom. By the sounds he seemed pleased. If she was happy, I was happy too. But the next morning, for the first time in our whole life together, she forgot to feed me. The lanky blokes boots answered that omission; they vanished. I wanted to punish him, but she looked at him with such love that I hesitated.
The lanky bloke turned out to be a decent chap who brought meat. He hid my boots in the fridge. Strangely, he only visited at lunchtime and sometimes stayed the night. In the evenings, my mistress was glued to her phone, apparently texting him, and grew quieter. On weekends shed sit staring at the screen, the phone never ringing, a gaunt cat prowling nearby. During one of those floorlevel evening sessions with scarlet wine, she stroked me and sighed:
Ah, Charlie, why is everything like this? Hes married. I met a decent, understanding man, and heblimeybrought a dowry. I thought his company would lift my spirits. I track every like he gets on Instagram, cant tear my eyes away. Im better than his wife, Charlie. Look at my chest, a gift of fate. Im old enough to flaunt it to a dog. The New Years holidays are near, and you and I will be alone again.
She wept softly. Damned bloke, I thought, you parallel universe. She hugged me while I growled with frustrated affection.
The next day, he arrived for lunch in a suit, which soon disappeared too. As soon as he slipped into her bedroom, I sprang into action. For every tear she shed, Id answer. Soon only little horns and stubby legs remained of his suit. Luck smiled when I found two phones charging on the floorhis and hers. I chewed them both. No point staring at those things and crying later.
He emerged from the bedroom in a dressing gown, realizing there was nothing else to wear and the phones were gone, and began lashing at me with his leash. She screamed, trying to protect me. He shoved her aside, snatched me up, trudged to the car and shoved me into the boot. I thought Id be taken to the landfill, plotting how Id attack him once the boot opened. Instead he hauled me to a clinic. They locked me in a cage, injected something, and my strength faded. When I woke, a strangers aunt was petting me through the bars, speaking into a phone:
What people, theyll take a dog, play with it, then its useless. Theyll pay a thousand poundseuthanise, dear. Right, Ill call you back.
She settled closer, one hand stroking, the other aiming a syringe at my side. I wasnt dense; I understood everything. I felt sorry for my mistresshow would she manage without me? A triple bark echoed. Goodbye, world.
Suddenly the door burst open and she rushed in, eyes red and raw.
Stop! No, dont! Ive found you, Ive found you! The aunt halted, growling that shed never get her thousand back, but we had no time for that. My mistress lunged at me, and I lunged at her.
Charlie, Ive travelled every clinic! Forgive me, forgive me! Hear me? They say dogs dont cry. Thats a lie. I wept once, and no one should know. We returned home and fell asleep.
***
Later her job was lostthanks to that lanky bloke. Meat vanished from my diet, leaving me on porridge. I became a passive vegetarian. She refused to give up. We started jogging each morning. Mostly I ran while she admired the birch trees, catching her breath before the next tree. After a couple of months she ran faster, almost stopped drinking scarlet wine. Only when Gran visited, bringing corn and old skirts, did the wine reappear.
My mistress enrolled in a course shed long wantedto gather bouquets of flowers. I nudged her to do the same with meat. A meat bouquet is the finest thing on earth. But if she prefers flowers, so shall I. I filled our council flat with bouquets and declared:
If no one gives me flowers, Ill make beautiful bouquets myself and give them to others.
She got the hint; on our next run I presented a large, green, rootveined burdock. She praised the gift, hugged me, and kissed me.
Sentimental, she soon landed a job in a flower shop, which delighted her and even more me. All the floral clutter moved to the shop. Our flat stopped looking like a haystack and became a proper home again. Meat returned to my meals.
Two years later, Sergey turned up, saying hed fixed the fridge and then stayed. Sergey was a good lad, never mean to my mistress; she laughed with him constantly. Another little Sergey arrived, a tiny pup. My mistress asked me to look after and love him too. How could I not? I am a dog, after all.
