Curiosity killed the cat, and got me a dog I didn’t really want.
Well that was what I initially thought, anyway. Now, I’m not so sure…
Anyway, to get on with what happened. It was just another Saturday, and I had been out all afternoon and was taking a way home through some woodland. Although calling it that was a bit rich, really, there weren’t many trees or much growth of any kind at all. I always felt there was something a bit off about the place somehow, it just seemed all kind of brooding and wrapped up in itself, is the best way I can describe it. Even the grass always seemed kind of withered or something. And I hardly ever saw anyone when I was passing through there. In fact I hardly ever went there myself. So maybe it was just fate that led me there that afternoon – and to that guy.
He was ahead of me on the main path, a tall, rather stooping figure, and he was walking quite slowly. As I neared him I saw that he was an older guy, not terribly well-dressed or anything, with longish straggly hair. In fact, though I know it sounds odd, that was the main impression I had of him – that he was straggly, like the surroundings.
I was just passing him by, when he stopped and said something that instantly attracted my attention.
‘My asthma!’
At least, that’s what I thought he said.
Shit, was this old dude just suddenly going to collapse on the path or something, with only me around to help? I didn’t even have my phone on me. But he didn’t look like he was having an asthma attack or anything of that kind. He didn’t seem to be aware of me either. In fact, he was looking way off to the opposite side. I shrugged and was about to continue on my way when he said it again.
‘My asthma.’
Surely I couldn’t be mistaken twice. It really sounded like that was what he was saying. But this time I also noticed the manner in which he said it. It sounded like he was calling someone. So I wasn’t too surprised when a dog emerged from the undergrowth lining the path on the far side.
I don’t know if you want a particular description of the dog or anything. I’m not much good at describing dogs, and this dog was particularly nondescript. A classic mongrel, if that’s not a contradiction. Kind of a medium size, and brown, like a lot of dogs. And it was a droopy kind of dog. Droopy ears, droopy, sad eyes, rough lank, droopy coat, droopy long tail. Yes, that’s what it was. It just sort of loped up to the guy and then stood looking obediently up at him in the time-honoured fashion of dogs.
Now I’m not the type to go around speaking to strangers out of the blue, by any means. Indeed, some might say that I’m not the type to speak at all, generally. On account of being an angsty fifteen year old, I suppose. But in the present case I was sufficiently intrigued to inquire about this man’s choice of pet names.
‘What did you call your dog?’
I don’t think I was expecting him to actually answer the question – more likely he’d tell me to mind my own business, if he replied at all. But I just couldn’t help myself.
He turned. He had a lean, lined face with bright blue eyes, and he gave me this kind of long, appraising look which made me wish I had never said anything. But then he grinned, kind of.
‘My asthma.’
Damn, there it was again.
He saw my expression, and chuckled. ‘It’s not what you think. Actually, it’s Miasma. M-I-A-S-M-A.’ he spelt out helpfully, as if this wasn’t just as bad as naming your dog for your medical condition.
Now, I know at this point I should’ve just said ‘Oh’, and dropped it. But the truth was, I was even more curious now. You see, I know what the word ‘miasma’ means, and I haven’t met many other people who have even heard of it. Not that that’s any real boast on my part. I just spend too much time on my own, reading and all. Yes I did say reading, and not online. But it’s a word with quite a negative meaning, and it’s certainly not the type of name that most people would give their dog. Then again, maybe this guy just liked the sound of it and didn’t know what it actually meant, or something. I felt like I had to find out. ‘Why do you call him such a name as that?’
The second I’d said this – stupid I know - I felt self-conscious for having assumed the dog’s gender. Even if you don’t hang with others much, that’s what living in this goddamned modern progressive 21st century society can do to you. Not that this guy looked like he’d care too much if someone did misgender his goddamned dog. He simply looked me straight in the eye and replied, quite calmly, ‘Because that is what he is.’
I was feeling more baffled every minute. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just what I say kid.’ For the first time he sounded condescending, or something. Like he was having to humour me. ‘And before you ask, yes, I do know what “miasma” means. An unpleasant, unwholesome influence, or atmosphere. A sickness, even. Right? Thought you were the only one around here who knew?’
I looked at him narrowly for a second. He looked ordinary enough – a bit shabby as I said - but that was no reason to judge him. I mean, to think maybe he had a screw loose or something. Maybe it was just a slight eccentricity on his part. Maybe he just liked really unusual names. But the strangest thing was how I just couldn’t let it go, like I had to keep pressing till I got to the bottom of it. ‘But how can he be that?’
He grinned again. ‘Wanna find out?’
Before I could think whether I wanted to or not, he shoved the dog lead over to me, and like the idiot that I was, I took it. ‘Here. You can have him.’
‘What?’
‘You can have him.’
‘What – you mean like, permanently?’
‘Certainly.’
What the fuck.
‘I don’t want him. Why would you give him to me anyway?’
‘Because he is yours now,’ the man informed me.
I just gawped at him. ‘What do you mean?’ There’s a great word for describing what I was feeling at that moment. Nonplussed. I had never felt more nonplussed in my life.
‘I mean, he is yours now. You’ve accepted him –‘
I demurred, and started the hand the lead back to him. He shook his head.
‘Too bad. He’s yours now. I couldn’t take him back even if I wanted to.’
I hastily dropped the lead. ‘Yeah? How’d you work that out?’ I was regretting starting this conversation alright.
He sighed. ‘Too long a story, and you wouldn’t believe it anyway.’ He fixed me with a cool blue eye. ‘Just remember one thing. You started this.’
Which was true enough in the sense that I’d first addressed him. But had it been my fault that he’d shouted out that stupid name just when I was passing by? I felt quite aggrieved. He was the cause of all this crazy shit, or that crazy dog of his was, and he was blaming me for it. So I vigorously denied it.
‘You did start it kid,’ he insisted. Now his tone was different - pitying, almost. ‘I’m sorry but that’s how it is. You showed an interest in Miasma and now he has chosen you. Even if you refuse to take him he will come to you. He belongs to you now. That’s just how it is.’
I glanced at the dog who was sitting patiently between us. He didn’t look like he’d chosen anything. I could think of nothing more to say except ‘You’re fucking crazy!’ but I stopped myself. After all, if the dude was fucking crazy I was a bit wary of how he might react. The other main possibility of course was that he was just screwing with me, maybe because I looked like a particularly dumb kid or something. In fact I was expecting – hoping, really – for him to suddenly laugh and say ‘it’s just a prank bro’. But he didn’t. Presumably he was going to string it out as long as possible. Maybe it was just his way of livening up the whole dog-walking routine which no doubt got kind of boring after the first ten thousand times.
By the way, you may be wondering why the hell I just didn’t walk off. I’ve wondered that myself since. It was stupid but I had the uneasy feeling that even if I did try to leave the scene, the matter wouldn’t end there. It’s kind of hard to explain. It’s not that I was really afraid of any danger as such, like the dude setting the dog on me the minute my back was turned, or something. It was hard to imagine that such a sorry-looking creature – the dog I mean – could pose much of a physical threat anyhow. But it was just the feeling, somehow, that I had blundered into something I couldn’t get out of.
Actually, it was the guy who left, once more taking me by surprise. He simply gave me one last stare then swung around on his heel and started off down the path, at a noticeably brisker pace than before. The dog didn’t even try to follow him, by the way. He walked so quickly that he had disappeared round a curve in the path before I even stirred myself. Then I finally came to my senses and rushed after him, rounded the curve, and was brought up short.
There was no sign of him.
The path stretched straight ahead now and you could see clear along it for a mile, or something. And there wasn’t much cover on either side to hide a grown man, especially a tall one. Absolutely no sound of anyone crashing through trees or bushes or anything either.
I felt bewildered, but then again, it was in keeping with the whole bizarre encounter. I have to admit I even felt a stab of something very like fear but that feeling didn’t recur with full force until later. At that time, I didn’t want something else to puzzle over so I quickly settled on a rational explanation. Maybe there was a concealed side path or some other hiding places along that stretch of the path that I had never noticed, after all, and after all he had been walking really fast and had gone around that long curve. What I did know for sure was that I wasn’t about to go looking for him. Either he was just a harmless eccentric, or plain crazy, or spaced out in some way, or he had been fucking with me just for the hell of it, or he did genuinely want to be rid of his dog and had spun a crazy story just to palm him off on some random passer-by. Although, if he didn’t want him anymore, why not just give him to a friend or a dog shelter or something? Maybe doing the conventional thing just wasn’t his style - after all, look what kind of name he had given the dog.
Anyway, these were all the explanations I could come up with, and none of them made me particularly anxious to seek out the old guy’s company once again. And he might conceivably come back of his own accord, if it was just a daft joke and all. He would come back, laugh and say something to the effect that it was all too easy to fool a dumbass kid like me, take up the lead and go home with faithful Fido trotting at his heels. Actually, I was still hoping this would happen, even if it would be mortifying for me, because then I wouldn’t be stuck with the problem of Fido. Not that I was obliged to go back for Fido, of course. I just felt somehow that I had to.
I retraced my steps, looking back over my shoulder a few times but there was no more sign of the guy. I walked quite slowly, giving the mutt plenty of time to run off, if he felt like it, in the meantime. But when I reached the spot where I’d left him, he was still there. Just sitting there, looking more earnest and doggy-like than ever. Just waiting for me – for someone – to return. And when I appeared, he thumped his long droopy tail on the ground, sort of. That was the first real activity I’d seen from him. I’m no great canine expert but I judged this meant he was pleased to see me – that he certainly wasn’t displeased, at any rate.
I felt in a bit of a quandary. I could stick around for a while longer, perhaps, see if the old dude showed up again. I highly doubted it by this time, though. And, if he didn’t, I would have to take charge of the dog, arrange for a shelter to take him or something. Or I could just wash my hands of the whole affair right now and leave him here, with his mutely beseeching doggy eyes. But like I said, this last really didn’t feel like an option. Not then.
I stood for a little while longer, looking around to see if anyone else was about, but there was not a living soul in sight. Not even the sound of any birds. No-one around at all, probably not even any insects or anything. I took a breath, retrieved the lead with one hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out to pat the dog with the other. I don’t know what I was expecting him to do. Up until now he’d been docile in the extreme.
He seemed to crouch a little, watching my hand. ‘Good boy,’ I said encouragingly - no way was I going to call him Miasma. I patted his head, then his drooping nose, and he responded with the tiniest of licks, then a few more. I took a moment to carefully examine his collar. At least that freaky name wasn’t inscribed on it. And then I realised that, except for the name, I had no other information at all about this animal. None. In fact, how did I even know that that old dude had even been his owner, for real?
Well, whatever. The fact remained that I couldn’t shake my sense of responsibility for him now. I tugged gently at the lead. ‘Come on, boy.’ He seemed quite happy to follow me, and we moved off. I thought about what exactly I was going to do. I’ve probably given the impression up until now that I don’t know a damn thing about dogs, but actually I did have some experience. My older brother Daniel had this German Shepherd, Max, when living at home. He – Daniel I mean – had turned eighteen recently and gotten the hell out, taking Max with him, and he’s hardly been back since, but I’d done my fair share of dog-sitting while they were there. Even Mom had. Come to think of it Mom had rather enjoyed having Max around. I even get the feeling that she misses Max more than she misses Daniel, and I don’t blame her, actually. However, she hadn’t seemed particularly keen on having another dog to replace him around the house. But she wasn’t likely to object to looking after a strange pooch for a little while, I reasoned. So that in itself didn’t pose too much of a problem. I wasn’t so terribly set against the idea myself, if I was honest.
In fact, as I walked along, the dog at my side, I began to seriously entertain the possibility of having my very own canine companion. I hadn’t often thought about it when it came right down to it, I could do with the company, probably. Now I don’t want to give a whole damn resume of what my life is like and all that crap but truth is I am a bit of a loner type or, to use the even more dreaded phrase, the ‘quiet kid’. Being kind of scrawny, with naturally black hair sort of flopping down over my eyes only helps to reinforce that image. But it isn’t my fault I have such dark hair and I don’t grow it out much either – a bit, but really not much – and before you say anything I am not fucking ‘emo’, in any way, shape or form. I sure as hell don’t listen to any kind of ‘dark’ music - black metal or any other repetitive, unimaginative shit like that. And although I do like reading, as I said, I’ve never been particularly studious or obsessed with tech or anything, so not a nerd either. Hell, I don’t even like gaming. Despite all this, I’ve more or less been voted ‘most likely to shoot up the school’ - any school – already. It’s just something about me I guess. Some kind of aura or radar that flips most people off. Although I’d had a girl or two, but none that lasted very long, so far. (I mean it was the relationships that hadn’t lasted very long, not the girls.)
Anyway, point being that having a dog of my own could provide the companionship which I presumably was in dire need of. I mean, that’s what you naturally expect from a dog. And at least this wasn’t some pure-bred pooch with twenty thousand different health conditions and a pedigree stretching over the last millennium, but just a plain, ordinary mixed-up mutt. He’d come to me in the most unusual way and maybe he could be my first faithful furry friend. A bit belated perhaps, but better late than never.
A boy and his dog. Just another cliché isn’t it? Sometimes I get the terrifying feeling that life is just a series of cliches. Really makes you want to not bother with growing up.
But then abruptly a new and most unwelcome thought came to me, interrupting my sentimental fantasies and stopping me dead. What if that old guy changed his mind about the dog and came back for him and then accused me of dognapping or something? I wouldn’t put it past him to pull such a trick as that – change his tune completely and get me in trouble.
I had a moment of conflicting emotions then one thought took over. Fuck this shit, I’m out.
I made to drop the lead, but just then the dog pulled a little and next thing I knew my fingers had somehow gotten caught in the handle. I have no idea how it happened. It was just an ordinary slip lead, with the usual handle which you certainly wouldn’t think was designed to trap your hand or anything, but it was like something suddenly and viciously clamped over my fingers when the dog pulled. I swore and tried to work my hand free, to no avail. I did my best to keep calm at first, to loosen the handle but I just couldn’t. If anything, it felt like it was getting even tighter - and you better believe it hurt.
Until you’ve tried it, you can’t know how it makes you feel like the world’s biggest loser, getting your hand stuck in a lead attached to a strange dog with a freaky-ass name which some crazy old dude chose to randomly dump on you. Pretty soon I was cursing both the dog and the dude freely to hell. And then the wild thought came to me: I can never let go of this lead. I’m not meant to. Just like he said. I’m stuck with Miasma forever.