It was the summer of 1990, and after years of pleading my parents finally succumbed and said my sister and I could have a dog. Party due to the cost, and partly to do a good deed, we decided that it would be a rescue dog that we got, rather than buy a pedigree. We visited several of the local dog homes and fell in love with a wee brown thing, but when we enquired about it we found out someone else had agreeded to take it only minutes earlier. I was upset. We went home.
Meanwhile, someone somewhere had obtained a puppy. I guess they got bored of beating her or kicking her around so they decided to get rid of her. But instead of taking her to the pound they had obviously heard the ‘tales‘ of farmers getting rid of unwanted litters of kittens by sticking them in a sack with a couple of bricks and throwing them in the lake. I can only imagine they thought this sounded like a much easier way of getting rid of a puppy than driving ALL the way to the pound. I suspect they thought they were out of luck when they realised they didn’t have a sack, but the brainchild of the outfit probably then thought “Why don’t we use a black bin bag?”
So that’s what happened. They bunged her in a bin bag (nice and airtight, great for drowning), threw her in the local canal and drove off. I can’t imagine what was going through her mind, but she managed to tear the bag with her claws and got her head and one front paw out of the bag, and did her best to stay afloat. Fortunately someone walking along the canal saw her, and jumped into the water and got her out. She was given to local lady who was known for trying to rehome unwanted dogs and my mum heard the story via a friend.
We named her Kali, Swahili for fierce. And she was, to an extent. Although at first she was, understandably, terrified of everything. Everything except the postman that is. The vet estimated that she was about 2 months old, so we gave her the birthday of the 5th of May, exactly 2 months before we got her. She had sharp teeth back then, and didn’t realise that biting people hurt. She never once bit anyone with malice, only while playing. We loved her instantly.
During the first week I was playing with her with a stick in the back garden. I threw it and it bounced awkwardly and the end of it went in her eye. She cried and kept her eye closed for the rest of the day. I though she’d hate me after that. I didn’t understand about a dogs unconditional love back then.
She loved chasing birds and squirrels. She was white and highly visible against green grass, yet still crept along, close to the ground, towards them. Then, when she was still far too far away she launched herself at them and chased them as they scurried up a tree or flew into the air. When she finally gave up, she’d trot back to you wagging her tail pround of doing such a fine job.
One day during her daily task of barking at the postman she threw herself against the front door as was usual. Only this time she went straight through the glass pane on the door and found herself outside, face to face with the postman. I don’t know who got the bigger fright, but she immediately turned tail and ran round to the back garden and hid under a bush. “Kali” maybe, but a coward at heart. We replaced the pane of glass with reinforced glass.
She preferred vegetables to biscuits. She had an allergy to grass (of all things). She loved the snow. She snored. She always lay down in the most awkward places. She could still be frightened by bin bags if she met one as she turned a corner in the dark. She never made friends with the postman. She died six years ago today, when I was away on holiday.
She had a good life, after the first couple of months. I still miss her.