A Sold Friend. Granddads Tale
And he understood me!
It was a thoroughly daft idea, really, and I grasped that sooner than I’d have liked.
I sold him. He thought it was a game, poor chap, and then he realised Id actually sold him.
Times, you know, are never as grand as youd wish. Some get the five-star treatment with all the trimmings, and others would make do with a simple cheese sandwich, provided it came with enough cheese.
So, there you go, we all lived differently, ups and downs aplenty.
I was only little then. My uncle Mums brother, Uncle Brian gave me a puppy, a border collie, for my birthday, and I was over the moon. The puppy took a shine to me from the off. He practically read my mind and could barely look away from me, as if waiting for the next great command.
Down, I would say, after a dramatic pause. Hed flop down instantly, eyes locked on mine, looking just about ready to defend me from marauding postmen.
Wait, Id command, and hed spring up on his chunky paws, frozen to the spot, swallowing with anticipation. All he lived for was the promise of a tasty treat.
And I had nothing to give him, really, not even a crust. We were skint ourselves.
Those were the days.
Uncle Brian the one who gave me the puppy, by the way sidled up to me one day and said,
Dont be glum, lad. Just look at how loyal he is. Heres what you do: sell him, then call him back. Hell come dashing straight to you. No one will see a thing. And youll have yourself a nice few quid. Bit of a treat for you and your mum, and something for the pup too! Trust your uncle, I know what Im on about.
Well, I thought that sounded like a cracking idea. Didnt cross my mind for a second that it might be even a smidge cruel. Grown-ups, you see, are supposed to know best. Besides, a treat to share sounded great!
I whispered in Maxs big, warm, woolly ear Max, that was his name that Id part with him for the day, but not to worry, Id call him back, and he was to run away from anyone else and find me.
And he understood me!
He gave a little bark, as if to say, Got it.
Next day, I clipped on the lead and marched him off to the station. Everyone sold things there flowers, courgettes, apples, even garden gnomes on Sundays.
As the train spilled its passengers onto the platform, folk began haggling and buying.
I stuck myself right at the front and gave Maxs lead a purposeful tug. But no one seemed biting.
Soon it was nearly quiet, but then some bloke with a face like a geography teacher stopped and eyed us up,
What are you after, lad? Waiting for someone, or selling the dog? He sniffed. Sturdy pup. Alright, Ill take him. He pressed a crisp tenner into my palm.
I handed over the lead. Max looked about and sneezed cheerily.
Go on, Max, off you go, pal, I whispered. Ill call you, and you come right to me! He went off with the man, and I hid myself and watched as he led my pal away.
That evening, I came home laden with a loaf, some ham, and a whole bag of chewy sweets. Mum eyed me suspiciously.
You pinched this, did you?
No, Mum! I just, erm, helped folks at the station with their luggage. They paid me a bit.
Well done, love. You eat up and lets get you to bed. Im worn out.
She didnt even ask about Max. Not that shed grown attached not her style.
Uncle Brian popped by the following morning. I was meant to be getting ready for school, but really, I was itching to dash out and bring Max back.
Well? he laughed, you sold your mate, then? He ruffled my hair, and I ducked away, saying nothing.
Id hardly slept, and the bread and ham sat untouched I felt dreadful.
It was a daft idea, and I knew it now.
No wonder Mum never liked Uncle Brian.
Hes a numpty, dont listen to him, shed muttered to me before.
I grabbed my satchel and bolted out the door.
It was three streets away to the mans house, and I ran the lot without stopping once.
Max was out back, behind a tall fence, tethered with a thick old rope. I called to him he gazed miserably at me, head on paws, wagging his tail, tried to bark, but his voice wavered and died away.
Id sold him. He thought it was a lark, and then he knew Id traded him off.
The new owner appeared and shushed at Max. The poor thing tucked his tail, and I felt it wed well and truly fluffed it.
That evening, I went back to the station and lugged bags for strangers. They paid me pennies, but I scraped together enough.
My heart was hammering as I marched to the gate and knocked. The same man answered.
Oh, its you again. Lost something?
Uh, mister, erm, I changed my mind, I muttered, holding out the tattered notes. Here the money you gave for Max. The man looked at me sideways, took the cash, and untied Max.
Go on, then, boy, he said with a sigh. Hes pining for you. Useless guard dog anyway. But dont expect forgiveness just yet.
Max stared at me so hurt, tail faintly wagging.
Our little game had turned into a right ordeal.
Finally, he came over, licked my hand, and buried his nose in my jumper.
Years have gone by since but I learned: you cant sell a friend. Not even for a laugh.
And Mum later said, Yesterday I was too knackered to notice, but then I wondered wheres our dog? Ive grown used to him hes ours, that Max of ours!
As for Uncle Brian, his visits got fewer and farther between. Not that we missed his bright ideas.
