That dog, Bobo

To this day he still gets mentioned every now and again. That dog. The dog that seemed omnipresent in the house of my friend as we were growing up. 

I had a very good friend when I was younger and she had a dog. The dog was called Bobo. Bobo was a straight up mongrel. The type of raggedy mongrel that had no chance of ever competing at Crufts.

With his shaggy, unkempt hair and suspect eye (the other one had stopped working) Bobo was a curious animal. A dog that looked as though he had served in two world wars and survived Hiroshima. Bobo bared all the hall marks of a beleaguered animal. He was a joyless mutt that would hobble about like a severely confounded dog. As with most dogs he had four legs but moved as though one was redundant. (I think it was). Poor Bobo, he was a pitiful dog if ever you saw one. 

School mornings were often interesting as Bobo would follow my friend like a smelly, lingering loser. Limping some paces behind her as though he was also going to school. Of course he wasn't in secondary school - but he wasn't to know. He had a dumb dog brain. All he wanted to do was follow his owner, who by the looks of it didn't want him around, hence her calculated (heartless) tactic of luring him into a phone box, shutting the door and running for the bus as the forlorn pet would look on morosely from his trapped box. Why not just stop him from leaving the house in the first place? I often wondered that...

Bobo was the type of dog that cats could bully. The type of dog that tramps wouldn't want to be associated with. The type of dog pigeons would peck if he as so much looked at the their stale pizza. (With that one eye). Regardless of these things he always returned for more. A resilient dog that was determined with his persistence of living out a hopeless existence.

Alongside some nice friends I regularly enjoyed laughing at Bobo. Why not, he was an easy target for ridicule. And it made me feel big. Macho. If he had been a rottweiler or pit bull then I would have kept my mouth shut. Obviously. But since he was nothing more than a gammy dog that was devoid of spark he was fair game. However, things were about to change. 

So, I had been in my friends home with a pal of mine. Hanging out, having a good time. Bobo was there. Lying on the ground looking disconsolate.  We decided to pick on him, mocking his useless plight. Laughing as we did so. Hearty belly laughs. Oh how we amused ourselves.

Anyway, as we were leaving our friends home the persecution of the dog continued. My pal was goading Bobo who was now stood up. We should have stopped, but we didn't. We went too far - because suddenly Bobo began to stir and twitch. As though he understood our horrible words. His semi functioning eye staring at us with intent. He had had enough of the abuse. He had grown tired of his predicament. The years of being bullied, the years of being trapped in a phone box. Tramps turning their noses up at him. Something inside Bobo's brain decided enough was enough. 

So what happened?

He flew at us! That's what happened. We were already leaving the house and the door was open. The wild dog chased us like delicious prey. And like two tough boys we screeched as we fled in shock. Jumping over the little wall without hesitation. Bobo was barking (we didn't even know he was capable!) Bobo was running. He was running on three legs! His shaggy mane stood on edge like an electrocuted hedgehog. His (false dog) teeth gleaming like cutlery! He was angry, frustrated, he wanted to show us he was far from a lame dog - he was a dog that if pushed would bite back. Well we didn't wait for him to sink his gnashers into our derrieres - we were gone! 

Scurrying away like little girls we couldn't believe what had just happened. Gripped by fear our faces displayed a picture that amused Bobo's owner, my friend, who was laughing away. Perhaps even she was surprised at what she had observed. But nevertheless enjoyed seeing her dog standing up to the plate and proving himself, not tolerating our abuse. Bobo was making his owner proud. Bobo was now behaving like a real dog. (Woof).

That day made me feel bad and uneasy for a while after. I felt remorse and had seen the error of my ways. If I had possessed a tail it would have been firmly wedged between my thighs. Due to that scary event I had developed a new found respect for the scruffy mongrel. Bobo was no longer a dog to be trifled with. He was a dog with feelings, with buttons. And we had pressed them. We had pressed them! 

Did that day herald a glorious new era for the once former useless dog? Well, the answer to that is no. Bobo unfortunately died. He packed in. All of the energy exerted in chasing us probably was too much for his little heart and weak body and because of that he passed away. Which was a shame; because in retrospect he wasn't all that bad. Yes he wasn't the most courageous and vicious  dog you could ever meet but that didn't really matter, he was my friends beloved pet. Her harmless Bobo.

That dog, Bobo. Gone but most definitely not forgotten. 

Demola, TCC