The Last Family in England. Matt Haig

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СКАЧАТЬ Lear. Not that it is any of your fucking business.’

      ‘If you say this is your park, my friend, it is all of our business.’

      White globs of saliva dropped from Lear’s vast jaw.

      ‘Er, Henry,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should go somewhere else.’

      But Henry was not intimidated. ‘Why does it always have to come down to territory?’ Henry asked with an inquisitive sniff. ‘I mean, why is it so important to you? What are you scared of?’

      ‘Scared?’ said Lear. ‘Scared? Fuck off. I’m not fucking scared of anyfuckingthing.’

      ‘Please, would it be at all possible for you to mind your language?’ said Henry. ‘We’re Labradors.’

      ‘I wouldn’t give a fuck if you were the fucking ghost of Lassie, to tell you the fucking truth.’ Lear inched closer to Henry, gaining mass as he did so.

      ‘And why do you feel the need to resort to such aggressive behaviour? Shouldn’t you be devoting your time to looking after your master, rather than worrying about what other dogs do in the park?’ By now, Henry was clearly pushing his luck. An ominous growl could be heard coming from somewhere deep inside Lear’s expansive bulk. I took a few steps back away from the scene and started to sniff an almost scentless patch of grass. The distant voices of Adam and Mick, who were still apparently oblivious to our situation, were carried across on the morning breeze.

      ‘You don’t have a fucking clue, do you?’

      ‘No. I don’t. Which is why I asked.’

      I sensed Lear look away from Henry and over towards me. Perhaps I would make for a tastier breakfast. ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘look at the two of you. Is this the sad fucking state this species has come to . . .?’ I looked over at Henry, perplexed. ‘. . . Look at you, you’re both fucking powerless to do anything. You think you can change things with a wag of a tail or a soppy-eyed stare? Don’t make me fucking laugh. I tell you, life is fucking tough. It’s dog eat dog out there. You’re either the prey or the predator, whichever way you choose to look at it. Humans don’t give a shit, either. In fact, they’re the ones taking our power away. They want the only ones with any sense of pride left to be muzzled. But, you see, my master’s different . . .’ He angled his massive head over to his owner, a pale-looking man with a beard standing a few paces behind. ‘He wouldn’t ever muzzle me because he understands . . .’

      ‘Lear,’ shouted his master, walking lopsidedly towards us. ‘Away.’

      The Rottweiler snarled his farewells and dutifully trotted over to his master.

      ‘That was close,’ I said, when I had walked back over to Henry.

      ‘Not really,’ sniffed Henry. ‘Underneath all the talk, there seems to be sense of a morality. Not our morality, certainly, but a morality all the same. He seems to be quite unaffected by the Springers. And he’s not as much of a psychopath as he likes to make out.’

      ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ The voice wasn’t mine. It belonged to Joyce, a stray Irish wolfhound, who we often chatted to in the park. She emerged from one of the bushes to our left. ‘I see him all the time, fellas. He’s a flaming eejit, so he is.’

      She stood in front of us, covered in leaves and dirt. Although her hair was even messier than usual, she still held an eccentric beauty. We respected Joyce, and valued her judgement. She knew things we could never know about this park and its many secrets. And unlike the other strays we often encountered she never attempted to make us feel small or belittle our Family concerns.

      ‘How come?’ I asked her.

      ‘OK, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you about last week when he threatened to kill a little Yorkshire terrier. I mean, a terrier for dogs’ sake. About one hundredth of his size. He could have gobbled him up whole. I mean, what possible threat could a little scrap of a dog like that be to such a massive beast, fellas? Tell me. The poor terrier was, well, terrified if you can pardon the phrase. Yes, terrified.’

      ‘So what happened?’ I said, pissing abstractedly on the patch of ground where Rottweiler scent still lingered.

      ‘Well, nothing. But only because the Rottweiler’s master told him to back off. I tell you, if there’s ever an attack in this park, you know where to point your nose . . .’

      ‘Henry!’

      ‘Prince!’

      Our masters were walking over. Henry seemed anxious for Joyce to finish her sentence. But instead she said: ‘I’ll be off then, fellas. See you.’ And she disappeared into the camouflage of the bushes, as she always did when humans were around.

      ‘We will continue our lesson tomorrow,’ said Henry, completely unruffled by the whole Rottweiler experience.

      ‘OK,’ I said, as Adam took hold of my collar. ‘I’ll see you.’

      And on the walk home, I was already thinking of it, my next lesson. I breathed in the morning air – car fumes, chip papers, cat shit – and tried to make sense of it. I breathed in further. I could pick out Henry, Lear, Joyce – their scents all still evident in the morning air. As we turned the final corner, I could still identify other park smells. They stayed with me, as strong as ever. Ugly, putrid smells. Squirrel blood, human vomit, and something else. Dank and heavy. Something I didn’t recognise. And yet, I couldn’t help thinking that this unidentified smell was the key.

      This was the thought that kept with me all day.

      If I could work it out I could predict the future.

      I could stop the bad things.

      I could protect the Family.

       The Labrador Pact: Resist the Springers

       Springer spaniels are a danger to our mission. They no longer view themselves as the guardians of the human Family, and have proved willing to sit by and watch its destruction. Furthermore, the mutinous propaganda which fuelled the Springer Uprising now holds an influence over other breeds.

       In particular, these are the key aspects of Springer behaviour which must be resisted at all costs:

       – Escaping leads

       – Ignoring danger-signs

       – Exploiting the kindness and generosity of our human masters

       – Failing to nurture the canine powers of secret diplomacy

       Labradors are encouraged to avoid all forms of contact with this increasingly hedonistic and debauched breed. Whenever a Springer approaches, turn the other way. Whenever you detect their scent, spray your own in its place.

       Reckless Springerism will never be tolerated among Labradors.

       We will never be weakened.

       Our duty will prevail.

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