Chapter 2: The Little Girl

2 Nov

I remember the first time I saw her, it was mid-March and just before sunset. The door to the barn was thrown open and she stood in the doorway. She could have been no more than three foot six and her bright auburn hair danced around in little circles, kissed and licked by the evening sun. Her name was Lily, she was an impish little Belgium gypsy girl. Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she rushed into the barn.

Lily was not smiling, there were tears gushing from those deep green saucery eyes; eyes that I would come to love more than life itself. Her breathing was ragged and raspy as she slammed the door shut behind her. She raced across the barn, and tripped over a rake and tumbled into a stack of hay bales, scraping her elbows raw on the coarse straw. I still remember her almost childish, voiceless, breathless cries as though it were yesterday.

Lily was looking for somewhere to hide because somebody was chasing her. As she came towards us my mother started barking aggressively, I guess she was trying to protect us but I remember pleading with her to STOP because I could tell that this barking was not going to help Lily; and although in my life I’ve been afraid of many things… I was never ever afraid of Lily

Anyway mother kept barking and Lily kept on running, looking for a place to hide. She ran right past us towards a large old broom cupboard that was leaning against the wall. She jumped into that cupboard and pulled the squeaky broken old door closed to within half an inch. What I did next changed my life forever.

I went to Lily. I wobbled across that room on my little wee puppy legs; I still had four of them at that time remember. There’s always been something about a girl in distress that I can’t resist. Some dogs are born cowards and some dogs are born brave. I may have been small for my age but I had the good fortune to be one of those who was born brave and I would have done anything to help that little girl.

I was half-way across the floor of that barn, when I heard the voice, it is not a voice I will every forget. “Lily. Lily. Where are you?” It was a gravely, old Flemish voice that even then caused a river of shivers to trickle down my spine.

I was so close to the cupboard now that I could see one of Lily frightened green eyes peering out through the crack. Suddenly that eye was looking down right at me; we stared at each other for the longest time. I don’t want to get too romantic or nostalgic on you, but right from that moment there was special knowledge, a mutual understanding that existed between the two of us.

In the background my mother was still barking the house down and I heard the voice again, much closer now almost at the barn door. That was when Lily did something that would change her life forever she opened the barn door and pulled me inside…


Chapter 1: The Birth of Scrap

19 Oct

I was born under a full moon on the fourth of July or so my mother told me. She told me this through a series of nuzzles and licks that only me and my brothers could understand. Every second full moon she would venture out into the night and raise her chin up to the black sky and howl up at the moon, I think it was her way of wishing all her kids a happy birthday.

Come to think of it that’s the great thing about being a dog… six birthdays a year. My mother was the greatest dog who ever lived… I remember her gentle spirit and her kind dark eyes. My father however, I never had the misfortune of shaking paws with. But it is my understanding that he was a randy old hound dog who drunk whiskey from broken glasses and roamed the streets on the outskirts of Bruges looking for pretty young girls he could devour. He was a handsome four-legged devil with the hint of mischief and the glint of the devil in his eye. What my mother saw in him I’ll never know, come to think of it I’m not sure she really had much choice in the matter.

Strangely enough there was a time in my life when I very much took after my father… but that was before life took it upon itself to humble me. Anyway back to my birth, leaving behind the horrors of my conception, let us jump 67 days forward. As I said previously I was born under a full moon. We could see the moon because the SHED I was born in was derelict and run down and the roof had caved in. I was the last one out and the smallest by far.

My name was not Scrap, not then. I was christened “raaaauuuwl” which in human terms sounds rather like the grand Raul and I was born with nothing except the unconditional love of my mother and the loyal comradeship of my five bigger brothers. We lived in that shed for a full five days until late one afternoon the door to the barn opened and everything changed…



12 May

An Interactive collaborative story:


My name is Scrap and I only have three legs. I was born in Bruges so I bark in a mid Flemish tone. One day you shall know me as a star in a film called Lucky & Rich. But my story began, a long time before I met Lucky and it certainly began a doggie year or two before I met that homeless New Zealand bum with the hairy face and the deep blue eyes; he was a good friend to me. I kinda of liked him, his name was Rich.

Anyway this blog ain’t really about them, this blog is about me, and the adventures I’ve had, and the life I’ve lived and the girls I’ve licked. You see, I’m old now and people always want to tell their stories when they’re getting old. There’s something very frightening about getting old, even dogs don’t want to disappear into the night and have their stories left untold.

So every Tuesday, I’m going to be here in this place. I’m going to snuggle up to you. I’m gonna to rest my chin on your knee and push my wet nose into your hand, I’ll even sneeze if I have too. I WANT YOU TO LOOK AT ME! Look into my dark doggie eyes, lose yourself in the mystic whirlpools of my canine affection. For when you are truly lost, it is then that you will truly understand. And when you truly understand, it is then that you will know my story.

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