Today being Burns Day, I was rereading one of his classic poems, "The Twa Dogs", when by chance the sad tale of Spooky landed in my in-box, writes Frank McNally.
Although the poem is a satire on class differences in 18th-century Scotland, Burns wrote it primarily to commemorate his beloved collie, Luath (whose conversation with a high-society dog it dramatises). According to the poet's brother, the real-life Luath had been "killed by the wanton cruelty of some person". And wanton cruelty may have been a factor in how Spooky ended up looking as she currently does.
Part Shitzu, part God-knows-what, she was picked up in Arklow some weeks ago and is now being cared for at the ASH Animal Sanctuary in Kiltegan. One theory is that she had acid thrown on her, for her face was such a mess at the time that it was not immediately clear if she still had eyes. The hair has been removed from it since, to prepare for the reconstructive surgery on her eyelids that the sanctuary hopes to carry out.
Spooky's story also touched me because her denuded features brought back memories of a pet dog I had when I was a child. His partial baldness (on a rather different part of his body) was also the result of trauma, though there was no cruelty involved, wanton or otherwise. It was just a freak accident, as I keep reassuring myself whenever my part in it comes back to haunt me. The dog was a greyhound and, actually, he wasn't mine at all, except on an emotional level. He belonged to a neighbour who kept a few dogs for racing at Dundalk and Mullingar and retained my services as a part-time assistant. I was 10 or 11 at the time.
As a professional athlete, the hound didn't even have a pet name. We called him Creevy Express, combining the name of a local townland and the hope we had invested in him. It was my suggestion. My neighbour complained that he knew of several greyhounds with "express" in their names that were always being delayed by leaves on the track and other problems. But he registered it anyway.
It wasn't only hope he had invested in the hound. Unlike Spooky, CE was very well bred. He was sired by the leading stud dog in Ireland at the time (his mother was poor but good-looking), and the extravagance of purchasing such aristocratic DNA was all the more apparent when the litter produced only three pups.
Two were earmarked for sale as soon as they were big enough. But CE was the pick of the bunch - beautiful black hair, loads of personality, etc - and would be going nowhere. He was our shot at glory.
Anyway, we used to feed the pups soup every day. Hot soup. And one of my jobs was to restrain them while it was being poured into their bowls to cool. They would be in a state of high excitement, and it could be a bit like minding mice at a crossroads. But I usually managed. Except this one day when, demonstrating the speed and agility for which he was bred, Creevy Express escaped my grip and bolted towards his lunch.
Even then, the worst thing that could have happened - you'd think - was that he would burn his tongue. Unfortunately, his braking was not yet as well developed as his acceleration. As he reached the bowl, he attempted to go from 60 to 0 in a split second, without success. Instead he tripped, somersaulted, and landed backwards in the soup.
I have never seen a scalded cat; but I have seen a scalded dog, and it's not a pleasant thing. Although he eventually recovered from the trauma sufficiently to regain his appetite for soup, the hair fell out from his right-rear flank and never came back. He grew up to win a string of races, and he was good enough to be entered for the Derby, until injury intervened. But he would never again be handsome. I still remember the looks we
used to get at Dundalk whenever we led in the dog with the baldy backside.
I'm not sure either Creevy Express (long since departed for the great racetrack in the sky) or Spooky would agree with the conclusion of Burns's canines: "When up they gat, an' shook their lugs/ Rejoic'd they were na men, but dogs". All four were entitled to take a dim view of humanity, certainly. But at least one of them is now in good hands.
The ASH Animal Sanctuary is run by Remi and Helena Le Mahieu, a Dutch couple who first came to Ireland on honeymoon in 1973 and fell in love with the place. Spooky has joined 100 other dogs, "40 or 50 cats", a donkey, "a very old pony", and even a few goats and ducks in their care. But the care is costly. The sanctuary will get €15,000 from the Department of Agriculture this year, Helena says - barely one tenth of what it needs, and certainly not enough to cover the expensive surgery planned for Spooky.
Yes, we could debate the morality of spending so much - maybe €3,500 - on a stray dog. Yes, there are children in Africa whose eyesight is threatened by drinking dirty water (and by all means, send your donation to the aid agencies instead).
But compassion for animals is no sin either. If you like dogs, or if you like Robert Burns, and especially if you like both, you could do worse than send a few bob to ASH. Details from www.ashanimalrescue.com, or 059-6473396.