Unleashing the dogs of war
By
Amrita Dhingra
SHE had us in the doghouse.
‘She’ as in Madeliene Spence, a Shirley Temple
look alike, characterised by devious treachery and sly
conspiracy. ‘Us’ as in Spooky and myself. We
had lost the last bout and ignominous defeat rankled. All
Spooky’s heart-brimming, Labrador-enthusiasm for
life had fizzled out in the face of Madeliene’s
vindictiveness.
We lay in the warm
sunshine — the birds were chirping, the butterflies
were going about whatever it is that they do — but
we were spent forces, shadows of our former selves. Well,
I’m sure you’re wondering why? Just to get you
into the picture I’ll go over the ghastly scene once
again. I do hope you appreciate the trauma I’m going
to undergo.
Situation: I have a dog
named Spooky. Elder sister (I’m sure it’s a
horrible mistake) Madeliene has a French poodle called
Cherie. Madeliene and Cherie detest us. For us they
don’t exist. Result: Frequent skirmishes.
But this time Maddy had
caught us on the wrong paw — very wrong, very muddy
set of paws to be precise. Spooky had chased Cherie right
into enemy territory. Madeliene’s wall-to-wall pale
pink carpet (everything she owns is various shades of
pink) was to quote her, "Absolutely ruined,
Mother!" A point hotly debated by us. "What
kind of a person lives in a pink room with a pink
carpet?" I demanded, when she marched me up to
mother for a court-martial. Neverthe-less, the battle was
lost. The gleam of triumph in Made-liene’s eye and
the supercilious swagger affected by Cherie made our
blood boil. Spooky was exiled from the house for a week,
to be confined to her kennel at night.
We may be down but were
definitely not out. Not yet. There had to be a way to get
back at them. For a moment I considered the wisdom of
saddling Madeliene or Cherie to my horse and making it
gallop around the grounds. But no, it was too open to
repercussions. We could, of course, capture Cherie and
rid her of the awfully soppy ‘fur style’ Maddy
is so proud of. The very thought made me smile. But no,
that would be like gifting her with a
use-as-and-when-you-please set of nuclear bombs. And use
them she would. Then, just as I thought I could think no
further and that the maggots had finally got my brain
— it struck. Divine inspiration, there’s no
other word for it. I am not a student of psychology for
nothing you know. We could use Maddy’s love for all
sorts of horror movies to retaliate. On guard Madeliene
Spence!
Any general will tell you
that no war is won without assessing the lay of the land.
To plan, to prepare, to strike. I rubbed my hands with
glee and patted myself on the back. Of all the ripe
schemes I had ever come up with — this was the
fruitiest. Dangerous? Of course it was dangerous! I fixed
my face into its usual mask of unconcerned boredom (the
one Maddy calls dumb), put my hands in my pockets and
sauntered into the house, a tuneless whistle on my lips.
A picture of innocence.
And then suddenly over
lunch, the picture became rosy. Rosy and rosier. It was
as if Lady Luck’s conscience had given her a mighty
nudge and she rearranged the course of fate to suit my
purpose to a T. Dad and Mum were going out that evening
for a late night dinner party. Hip Hip Hooray Like Mark
Antony I bided my time. All the while when Madeliene made
pointed little barbs at Spooky and me over dinner, I held
on. Gritted my teeth and held on. The time had not yet
come to unleash the dogs of war.
She finally settled down
to watch the X-Files. Madeliene just love to be scared
within an inch of her life, provided of course she is
cosily curled up on a couch, ensconced in a safe, warm
living room. But safe, warm living rooms must be
left...and upstairs I waited. Meanwhile I put on my black
slacks and jumper. The ski-mask and a box of matches
waited in readiness on my dresser.
At quarter past eleven, a
funny little procession made its way up. Madeliene
followed by Cherie, and as they came up, she switched on
all the lights from the hall to the landing leading to
our rooms. Well! What do you know! Madeliene was scared.
Through the connecting door I heard her go about her
changing and tucking-Cherie-in routine. This door, you
must know, is kept bolted on both sides. By twelve she
was in bed.
The time had come. I
switched off the light and climbed out of the window. It
was a dark, blustery night. Going to the corner of the
balcony I shone the torch on to Spooky’s kennel. She
looked up, saw me and let out a yelp of delight. I let
out my owl imitation call. Spooky thought it was a new
game, sat down, raised her head and let out a loud howl
"Ooooo-ooo-yoooo,"
went Spooky.
"Twoo-twoo,"
went the owl.
First I put on my ski
mask, then I lit a match and let it burn. When it was
almost fully burnt, I extinguished it. It left a
magnificent cinder. I popped it into my mouth and clamped
it between my teeth, just above the tongue. A few steps
and I was at Maddy’s window.
"Yooooo-whoooo,"
continued Spooky.
I blew on the
match-cinder, it glowed fiercely and I rapped on the
window.
Maddy got a good look at a
dark, distorted face which had a month of red glowing
embers. She sat bolt upright, her eyes popped out, she
went white...still the horrific figure gestured
menacingly and the ghostly ‘hyooo-whooo’
continued.
She opened her month to
yell but couldn’t fine her voice. The monster! Then
her voice returned. "Ma...Mo—ther.......!: she
jumped out of bed. Taking advantage of her turned back, I
rushed back into my room, chucked the matchbox and mask
into the closet. I think I changed into my pyjamas in
thirty seconds that night. Maddy did not waste time. She
banged the door.
"Ami! Open the
door!"
"What"" I
threw the jumper and slacks into the closet, slid my
shoes under the bed. "Please, Plea...se!! Open the
door!" the yelling grew even more desperate.
The sight that greeted my
eyes was as pretty as any I’m ever likely to see.
Madeliene Spence’s rosy complexion had turned a
delicate green, her curlers were askew, her breath came
in short gasps.
"It ...it’s
going to eat my liver!"
"What?" Calm,
surprised — that’s me.
"May I come into your
room?" she clutched my shoulder as if expecting the
liver-eating monster to spring out any second.
"Well yes, but you
may get leprosy or die of asphyxiation," I can rub
it in with the best of them.
"Where’s....where’s
Spooky?"
"Confined to her
kennel as you desired m"lady."
"Couldn’t
....couldn’t you get her up here?"
"Why? What happened
to Cherie?" the question was purely rhetorical
because we both could see Maddy’s ‘angel’
sound asleep in her basket.
"I am sorry Ami. Get
Spooky in. I need protection."
I couldn’t ignore a
beseeching look, could I? After some more grovelling on
her part I gave in and Spooky was restored to her
rightful place at the foot of my bed. Maddy, I might add,
climbed into my spare cot and made me keep the light on
all night.
The next day dawned bright
and clear. There was no rain on our parade as we marched
downstairs for breakfast. Madeliene’s voice was low
as she narrated the night’s events to mother —
I caught the last part, ".....let Spooky stay in
please."
As we tucked into one of
cook’s finest breakfasts, I appreciated the poetic
justice of the situation. The battle had been won and we
were home safe and dry. Was it my imagination or did I
really see a knowing twinkle in my mother’s eye as
she passed me the bacon? I guess I’ll never know,
but then, neither will Madeliene.
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