‘AWAY! AWAY!’ MARY SHOUTED.
The mangy dog kept watching her as she tried to shoo it away with her broom. She could see it, sense it. A scrawny thing that insisted on hanging around. No doubt the mongrel was hungry, but there was little she could do about it. Every scrapeen of food they had was for them, not some cur of a dog that had appeared out of nowhere.
But it kept showing up. As time went on, Mary hadn’t even the strength to chase it away.
The family were growing weaker and weaker by the day. The watery gruel she heated up to feed the children simply passed through them, only filling their small stomachs momentarily.
She kept a careful eye on the dog, making sure it did not come too near the house or the children. She feared it was just biding its time.
The following day she spotted the animal further down the field, chewing on something. A bone. She had no idea where it had found it or from where it had dug it up. It turned and growled at her. The pit of her stomach turned in fear.
‘Go! Go! Off with ye!’ she screamed, but it continued to gnaw at its filthy bone.
There wasn’t another creature to be seen – not even a fox, or a rabbit or a hare – and yet this dog was still here …
There was nothing to put in the pot. Water, a bare handful of Indian meal, salt, and a few herbs and nettles to cook over the fire. What kind of a meal was that?
Then she saw it. The dog had come nearer to the house than ever before, as bold and brazen as you like.
Suddenly fearful, Mary grabbed the broom to chase it away, but as she did so the animal raised its snout. Growling, it bared its teeth, ready to attack and bite her. As she swung the broom, the beast jumped up and snarled, trying to grab at it with its teeth. She made contact with its head as hard as she could. Again and again, she struck the dog until it was still. Its tongue hung from its mouth in a small pool of blood, its eyes glazed over.
She had killed it. Triumph filled her and a feeling of inexplicable joy took over her.
Close up, it looked to be about two or three years old. Its head and paws were big but its body ill-fed. Still, it was a good size. Mary studied the animal further, wondering where she would bury it or how she would get rid of it before the children and John returned home. She went to lift it and was surprised at how heavy it still was. The weight of a lamb or a piglet … And then it came to her … She knew what to do.
Mary dragged the animal’s lifeless body to the back of the cottage where John often worked, and laid it on a stone slab. She took a sharp knife and quickly began to skin it, removing its short coat deftly. She then opened it up and pulled out its entrails before cutting off its head, for she could not bear to see its sad eyes. She butchered it as she used to prepare their lambs, removing its paws instead of hooves and its long narrow tail.
Meat still sat on its bones. Not a huge amount, but enough. She set about quartering it and then divided it into fleshy segments that she could manage.
The smell of meat cooking filled the air as she stirred the boiling water and added a few herbs to the pot.
The children sat around the turf fire, watching and waiting, and John returned with a bucket of water from the well.
‘What is it?’ he whispered, coming over to investigate.
‘A kid goat I found caught in the thorns out back, half dead,’ she lied.
‘Whose goat is it?’ asked Tim, curious.
‘I don’t know, but it was lucky for us that I found him before someone else came along.’
Nora said nothing and sat staring into the fire.
The meat was strong … and tough. It was much like mutton but they ate it slowly, spoonful by spoonful. Mary dared give only a little mouthful to Annie.
‘Only a small bit tonight,’ she warned the children. ‘For fear the taste of meat in your belly after so long will make you sick.’
‘It will not make me sick.’ Tim grinned, wanting some more.
‘You may have more tomorrow,’ she promised him.
As she ate, she tried to push thoughts of the animal out of her head, knowing that the meat of the poor creature would somehow help them to survive.
She cooked up more of the dog meat the next day and roasted one of its legs slowly over the fire.
‘Eating dog will do us no harm,’ John assured her once she had shared her secret with him. ‘A sailor once told me that in some far-off countries in the Orient they eat them all the time.’
‘God preserve us!’
‘We will do what we have to. Anything to keep us from starving,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘If I had seen that dog, Mary, I tell you, I’d have killed him myself.’
She had never expected to become so hard, so strong and determined. She may have a woman’s light touch with her needlework, but deep inside Mary knew that if the situation demanded it, she would fight like a wolf to protect those she loved.