It was not the usual clang clang sound of two rusted iron tied together that always preceded Bruno, Mr Fagbem’s dog, that called my attention this one time. It was a snarling. The snarling of horror mixed with madness. It was the sound of being majorly pissed and at the same time scared shitless.
Bruno was a German Shepherd, notorious for he’s ferociousness with strangers and he’s playfulness with allies. But the allies were not necessarily people that Bruno saw frequently, they were people he trusted, people he chose. You could come to our compound every day and bring a sack of bones for Bruno each time and it still wouldn’t like you. And if Bruno didn’t like you, he wouldn’t touch your bribes. But not just that, if Bruno didn’t like you, you would not enjoy your stay in our house very much because Bruno would almost bark his head off. And once you come out, make sure your back was not turned to him at any time.
A girl I was seeing at a time made that mistake once and almost got to pay for it–people never got to make it twice, Bruno saw to that. We had been together for two weeks when she came to my place for the first time. Bruno met me at the gate and began to wag his tail…right until he saw the chica behind me, then he lost it. He wouldn’t let her come in and was snarling and barking. I had not come to appreciate this unique gift Bruno had then, so I took him and chained him down, where he could see us but couldn’t reach us.
But Bruno didn’t give up. He kept barking so loud and the girl was so uncomfortable that I decided it was best if she left. As she was going, the intensity of Bruno’s madness went up a notch and somehow, for the life of me, Bruno came loose and charged at her. She escaped unscathed…barely, and I sensed Bruno didn’t want to hurt her because if he had wanted to, she would have lost a limb or so.
I was not very happy with Bruno because I had plans that day and he had ruined them.
Turned out the girl was just stringing me along anyway, she was with someone else and just needed to step out for a while because her partner was acting up and wanted to teach him a lesson. Crazy bitch she was. We broke up less than a week after the Bruno encounter. Thanks to her meeting with Bruno, she slipped up and I found out everything.
I got a little sense of Bruno’s help them, but not how much it was.
After two more encounters with girls I was seeing and a guy I considered to be a friend who was a scammer, I took note of Bruno’s reaction. I discovered something everyone else didn’t know.
If Bruno had no opinion about you, he would just walk away–he would not wag his tail or come close to you, but he wouldn’t bark either. He would just seem bored…like you were boring him. He would leave.
If he liked you, he would welcome you as though he had been friends with you since he was a pup.
But if he didn’t like you, then something must be up and Bruno would sure show his displeasure by becoming almost violent.
That was partly what I heard in Bruno’s barks that day. But it was not just dislike, it was not just that he saw someone shady, it was also fear–and that, I can’t recall Bruno ever displaying. It was as if he was staring at death and protesting.
It was 6.10pm.
I rushed out of our apartment wary since I was the only one at home at the time. Mr Fagbem was not back from work and my housemate had gone to see a movie with his novia.
I was wearing only a short and stepping into the evening light, I suddenly felt exposed. There was a strange feeling that accompanied that–it was the feeling of being watched, as though I was at the centre of a stadium and a large crowd was watching me, a thousand eyes. I quickly located Bruno, he was running around in a small circle and barking. He was acting as if he was surrounded by hostile people. He didn’t see me–he didn’t see anything as far as I could tell. He was just barking madly and erratically with spittle dripping from his mouth. I didn’t see anyone around, but I felt a chill creep up my legs to my heart. The feeling of being watched became intense.
I approached Bruno with caution and called out his name. He didn’t hear me. I raised my voice just a little and called again. He paused briefly and looked at me, wagged his tail briefly and whimpered. I could see pain in his eyes and I could have sworn they were begging me to save him. He began to approach me… Then sudeenly he stopped and snarled. He snarled at nothing. Then forgot about me again and began moving around in circles again.
I was terrified now, not just because I feared something was coming…something inevitable, but because I was helpless. Bruno needed my help but I was just there, not doing anything, not able to do anything. That was terrifying as hell.
After a moment, it seemed like time moved fast and the sky turned black. Bruno was tired now, I could tell, but his fighting spirit was unconquered.
Something had to be done or else Bruno would die first from exhaustion before his demons could take him, and I sensed that was how Bruno would want it.
But he was such a good dog, I couldn’t bear to think of Bruno dying so miserably and so alone.
I said a prayer then–a quick hurried prayer–to whatever god was listening to silly prayers about dogs at that hour. I asked that Bruno be relieved of this madness.
I guess someone heard my prayer because a few seconds later Bruno stopped barking. Just as suddenly as he had started. In his circling, he was facing me when he stopped. Now Bruno was looking in my direction, but not at me. It was a distant look past me into nothing.
I squatted and whistled and called his name.
This time, he looked at me immediately, his eyes finally focusing. But they glowed. They glowed coal red and I was forced by the vehemence to get up and take a step back.
Bruno began to approach me and my heart began to run a lonely race. I just watched petrified as Bruno approached slowly, like a Lion approaching a helpless prey. I wanted to scream but the sound was stuck in my throat.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Bruno’s glowing eyes, but now I could see that there was a softness around the edges of those eyes and a drooping of the jaw. The slowness of his steps suddenly didn’t look so terrifying–they now appeared to be strained, as if he was moving with all the strength left in him.
When he got to me, he slowly sank to the ground and rested his head on my feet. I squatted again and took his head in my hand and caressed it. He closed his eyes. That close to him, I could hear him breath, but they were not normal breaths, they came out as strained whizzing, like a person ailed with asthma. I continued to pat his head and he opened his eyes briefly and looked at me. But there was no pain in them anymore. What I saw took me aback, or maybe I imagined it, but at that moment, it felt so real. I saw pity in Bruno’s eyes–pity for me. It was as though he was sad because he wasn’t going to be there for me anymore and a whole lot of shit would happen.
And then he closed his eyes again and soon, the whizzing stopped. All movement stopped and I knew Bruno was no more. And then the cloud got a little lighter.
I picked the body in my arms and took it to the back of the house and used a cloth to cover him.
*******
When Mr Fagbem came back about an hour later. I didn’t know how to explain to him how his dog had died, but I had to tell him.
“What’s wrong?” Mr Fagbem asked when he saw the pained look on my face.
I began to speak but felt my voice would betray me and I would cry, so I shook my head and waited.
Mr Fagbem waited patiently, as if he knew how important and difficult what I was about to say was. He was a kind soul even in his late seventies.
Finally when I felt my voice was steady enough, I said, “Bruno died, Mr Fagbem.”
He looked at me intently, not saying a word for a while. He just stared at me, the cataract in his left eye made me avert my stare.
“What do you mean Bruno died?” he finally asked cautiously.
How could I tell him what had happened. I couldn’t even fathom what happened. It was madness and you can’t narrate madness without coming off as mad yourself. But Mr Fagbem’s cool but intent gaze soon made me pour out the story as haphazardly as I had witnessed it.
When I was done, Mr Fagbem’s placed a hand gently on my shoulder and squeezed it.
“Leo,” he said, “My Bruno died a week ago.”
That was not possible, I said. I watched Bruno die in my hands tonight. I carried the body in my arms to the back of the house, I told him.
“My Bruno died a week ago,” he said again. “But he had chosen you.”
“Chosen me? What do you mean?”
I was beginning to think the madness in my narration, the madness I had experienced was finally rubbing off on Mr Fagbem.
“You won’t understand it now, but Bruno had chosen you. Your life is about to be different from now on.” A tear rolled down Mr Fagbem’s cataract-clouded eye and he wiped it with the heel of his other hand. He gave my shoulder a squeeze again and said almost inaudibly, and almost with relief and admiration. “He has chosen you.”
I had a feeling then that Mr Fagbem had finally gone senile but when I left him and went to check Bruno’s body, there was nothing there. Just the cloth lying on the floor.
Mr Fagbem died in his sleep that night, and I’ve been wondering since then, what the hell happened that night of deaths.
