Oscar's Night

I once had a strange encounter with a mad woman and her even madder dog, and it changed my life. It was about the time that I’d split up from my third wife, and I’d taken up exercise as a way of helping me get back onto the market, as it were. I was out running in the park when suddenly this huge canine came charging out of the trees, rushed towards me, and bit me on the arse, pulling down my running shorts in the process. It was a great big curly-haired black thing which held more than a passing resemblance to Louis XIV. After I’d stopped running, it pranced around me, barking furiously. There was no-one else about so I had no option but to grab it and lead it back to my car (I used a shoelace from my trainers as a lead). According to its name-tag, it was called Oscar.

I phoned the number on the tag and a rather shaky, but dignified female voice replied. I told her that I had her dog and that he’d bitten me. She accused me of kidnapping him and asked me if I’d harmed him at all. She eventually gave me her address and I put him in the car and drove him there. Despite my best efforts, he refused to sit in the back and for the whole journey sat on the front assenger seat like a person, trying to lick me. I don’t like that sort of thing – I know where dogs poke their tongues.

The house was in darkness, but finally the door was opened by this tiny little woman with white hair and watery eyes. She looked at me as if she was expecting me to ask her to buy some dishcloths or something. I pointed to Oscar. She opened the door wider and stepped back. ‘Bring him in,’ she said. I didn’t really want to go in, but I followed her into the hall. There was a smell to the house which, although not unpleasant, reminded me of something I didn’t like – it was an oily, lavender-like smell. I removed my shoelace from his collar and turned to leave, but she slammed the front door closed. ‘You must stay for a drink,’ she said. I was about to decline the offer when I realized that she might be offended if I did, and I was brought up never to give offence to old people, so reluctantly I accepted.

We sat in a sitting room that had a glass cabinet containing a collection of what looked like shrunken heads. I noticed that the carpet was brightly-patterned and looked expensive, and I suddenly felt out of place in my mud-spattered trainers and shorts. Without asking, she poured me a glass of whisky from a crystal decanter set upon a silver tray. Oscar pushed opened the door and came into the room to sit beside me. ‘Why do you suppose he bit you, as you so claim? Did you kick him?’ she asked. I was about to answer, when my eyes strayed towards the glass cabinet. ‘Gruesome, aren’t they?’ she said, referring to the shrunken heads. I asked her if they were genuine. She grimaced and said, ‘I doubt it. Cheap tat for the tourists, I shouldn’t wonder. My husband spent some time in Borneo and he was rather a sucker for all things tacky. Especially other women.’ She glared at me, as if she suspected me of being the same, and I had an idea that because of her husband, she probably hated all men.

I downed my whisky and stood up to leave. ‘You should be more careful with Oscar,’ I said. ‘He might get run over if you let him roam.’ She stood up herself and gave me another glare. ‘I don’t know how he gets out,’ she said. ‘But he’s done it before. The dog warden brought him back last time, and the time before that it was some horrid woman with a great gash of a mouth who said I should be horsewhipped for letting him roam. Mad bitch.’ She then suggested that I leave by the back door and led me through to the kitchen. I saw at once how Oscar had escaped – the back door was wide open. ‘Who has left that open?’ she said, picking up a purse from the worktop and scanning inside. Who indeed, I wondered?

She sat down on a kitchen chair and despite her diminutive stature, Oscar immediately leapt onto her bony knees. The woman peered over the top of his curls, eyeing me with scepticism for a moment. ‘Why don’t you keep your back door locked?’ I said. ‘It’s not safe for either of you leaving it open.’

‘Oh, bugger off,’ she snapped. ‘I’m fed up with people telling me what to do. You try living on your own, it’s no fun.’ I was surprised at this – I’d only been trying to help after all. I apologized and she just waved her hand from behind Oscar’s massive ears. ‘Did you know that Lady Ottoline Morrell once forced Bertrand Russell to see a dentist?’ she said. ‘He was my father, you know.’ She continued to glare at me. ‘The dentist, I mean. Not Bertrand Russell.’

The next day, at my own expense, I went back and fixed one of those door closure thingies onto her back door. At least it would help to prevent Oscar from escaping again, I thought. After that, I’d pop round once or twice a week to check that she was okay and to do odd jobs about the place. She told me that she was ninety-six. And when, six months later, she moved into a nursing home, she gave me the collection of shrunken heads, and Oscar. I still have him to this day, and he always comes with me to visit her in the home. We love Oscar. The shrunken heads however, are still in a box in the loft. Perhaps I should sell them on eBay? Hmm.