“Noddy”
Prathiksha Srinivasa
I almost killed my host sister’s dog.
It was an accident! I promise! Even though Noddy and I did not have a balanced relationship—he loved me and I despised him—I would never be so heartless as to lead him to his demise. Sure, he ripped my socks to shreds, and yes, he individually unwrapped my sanitary pads and paraded them in the living room in front of guests, but he never meant any harm…right? Not even that one time he looked me right in the eyes before he relieved himself in my suitcase, forcing me to look up the Spanish word for urinate (orinar) as my seven-year-old host sister collapsed in peals of laughter. Surely not even on that Saturday morning when he somehow managed to open the door to my bedroom at 6:00am and hurl his small, unwashed body at my face. Noddy was a good dog. A fine dog. A terrible excuse for a dog.
***
When I filled out the form for host families before my program in Madrid, I promptly indicated that I wanted to live in a house with no pets. Don’t get me wrong, I think the concept of a pet is charming—they are content to share your space, they rely on you for their survival, and they give you a sense of purpose. However, I have never quite understood the novelty of acquiring a sentient being and then forcing it to tolerate you (although, I suppose that is what parenthood is) I did not want to increase the stress of a language immersion program with the stress of learning the vocabulary that one needs to navigate the behavior of a pet, so I was confused when I walked into the Faragut household and was pounced on by a Yorkie.
If Noddy were a person, it is safe to say that we would not have run in the same social circles. He was a people pleaser, going to great lengths to ensure that everyone loved him. However, he chose to display his affection in unusual ways. For example, Noddy had an unhealthy fascination with toes. All you had to do was take off your socks and Noddy would appear, his whole body quivering with anticipation, his tongue slowly emerging from his mouth, ready to find that sweet spot between the big toe and its neighbor. While my host sisters thought it was charming (Noddy está chupando mis pies! Noddy is licking my feet!), I thought it was truly horrific. While Noddy never passed up an opportunity for a quick lick, he was especially persistent during dinner. The Faraguts never wore shoes inside the house, and after a tragic incident involving polished floorboards and three broken teeth, socks were discouraged as well. Fully aware of the range of opportunity, Noddy would always creep under the table during dinner, knowing that there were fifty different toes he could sample. He was absolutely relentless, and if you were unfortunate enough to be selected, no amount of kicking or finger waggling would distract him from his mission. He really loved toes.
And if Noddy sensed that someone did not enjoy his company, his strategy was to triple his efforts until they relented and accepted him into their hearts. He did not however, anticipate my resilience, and our interactions turned into a game of tug-of war, with Noddy giving it everything he had and me standing firmly on the other side. I must assert here that my rejection of this small dog’s love was also grounded in very practical concerns. Not only was he overbearing and clingy, but he was also terrible at his job. Even though he was meant to “guard” the house, Noddy did not know the first thing about vigilance. Whenever he encountered a stranger, his instinct was not to protect his turf, but to ask them for a belly rub. He would lie on his back and whimper until they pet him, and once he was satisfied, he would let them go about their business uninterrupted. The only time Noddy attacked anyone was when my host father, José, returned unexpectedly late from the office and Noddy dug his sharp teeth into his ankles. Clearly this dog did not possess a sense of discretion and was not fit to be loved.
In order to provide a fair account of our relationship (and I am nothing if not fair), I must reveal here that I too put Noddy through some hard times. There were the small things of course: not letting him on my bed, barricading my door with suitcases so that he wouldn’t come in, and refusing to show him physical affection. Then there were some bigger things that I suppose, in hindsight, were a little cruel. Noddy liked to take naps in my room and would spread himself out on the small, shag rug at the foot of my bed. I would wait for him to fall asleep, and once I was sure that he was breathing deeply, I would place my foot on the edge of the rug and in one quick motion, I would swiftly pull it out from underneath him. Oh, how he ran! He would bolt into the hallway in absolute terror, his little feet struggling to gain traction against the smooth, wooden floor.
I hope it is evident how vulnerable I am being in sharing this information. Even though it may seem as if I hated Noddy enough to murder him, what happened that day was an accident. I promise.
***
It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. My host mother, Begoña, was dropping off the girls at dance practice and José was out getting lunch with a colleague. I loved days like these when I had the house all to myself. I would pour myself a cup of coffee from the rusting percolator in the kitchen and take it with me into the living room. Sometimes I lounged on the couch and flipped through the channels on TV, catching snippets of conversation that I never fully understood. Other times, I would peruse the shelves lined with José’s books. He was a voracious reader and had amassed a sizeable collection during his college years featuring everything from accounts of the Spanish Civil War to the art of spearfishing. This afternoon in particular, I had opted to sit at the dining table by the window and watch people on the street below. It was an exceptionally windy day, and the awning of the neighborhood café sounded like it was going to tear itself free from the metal fixtures that held it in place. All the patrons had evacuated the outdoor tables and servers hurried to clear their dishes. People wrapped in multiple layers hurried to overtake one another as the dark clouds forming above the city threatened to burst at any moment.
As I was enjoying the commotion, I felt a familiar, unpleasant sensation on my toes. Noddy had grown tired of his mangled chew-toy and had crept under the table to find something new to play with. No number of brisk kicks would deter him, and in a desperate attempt to free myself, I grabbed my cup and walked to the kitchen for a refill. Noddy followed dutifully, waiting for my feet to stop moving so he could continue his ritual uninterrupted. As I poured myself a second cup of coffee, I eyed the baguette that Begoña had left on the counter top next to a tub of raspberry jam. My stomach rumbled to validate my temptation, and I greedily tore off a sizeable chunk to put on a plate. As I looked down, I noticed that Noddy had strategically positioned himself next to his empty food bowl. He had a flair for the dramatic and his gaze alternated pitifully between the bowl and the baguette, finally settling on me.
His pathetic disposition momentarily thawed my hatred. I carved the edge off the baguette and tossed it on the ground in front of him.
“There. Happy?”
He attacked it like he had never seen bread before. As I watched him devour the baguette, I congratulated myself on taking the moral high ground. This kind of generosity definitely warranted some merit, and I made a mental note to tell my host sister later that night about how I rescued her stupid dog from the brink of starvation. A strange noise snapped me out of my thoughts.
Noddy’s entire body was rigid and he was staring at a fixed spot on the floor. He was trying to bark, but the only sound that escaped him was a thick, wet gurgle. I put my cup and plate down and kneeled in front of him.
“What’s wrong?”
I could hear his throat fighting to expel the piece of bread. Noddy had been accustomed to eating the soft innards of the baguette that my host sister so lovingly fed him every night. This piece had been much too hard, and I could picture it lodged in his windpipe, the jagged edges causing him pain and blocking air from entering his lungs. He began to convulse, and the gurgles increased in frequency and intensity. Strings of saliva descended from his mouth and his eyes were starting to roll back in their sockets.
I stared at him in absolute horror. I didn’t know whether to squeeze him, thwack him vigorously on the back, or leave the house, come back four hours later and act surprised with everyone else when they discovered Noddy’s lifeless body in the kitchen.
I was watching Noddy die and I did not know what to do.
In a panic, I realized that it would be best to grab him. Maybe my hands would know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver that I had never learned and everything would be ok. As I reached out for him, Noddy lunged as if he were going to attack. He bared all his teeth, and even though he was still choking, it was clear he did not want me anywhere near him. To be honest, I didn’t blame him, but I was nevertheless quite offended. I am sure you are thinking that it was an instinctual reaction on his part that was driven by fear, but I am convinced that it was out of accumulated spite.
I watched him for a few more seconds and decided that I needed to call my host mother.
As I ran to the living room to retrieve my phone, I thought about how I was going to phrase this. I quickly ran through some options in my head:
Hi, Begoña, Noddy is dying. What do I do?
Hi Begoña! I’m fine, thanks. Yes! The baguette was lovely. Speaking of which, the dog is choking on it.
Begoña! Noddy! Choking!
Given my abysmal command over Spanish during times of crises, I opted for the last option. I entered the kitchen just as the call went through, and I saw Noddy stationed yet again by his empty food bowl, staring at me with the same, pathetic gaze. The regurgitated piece of baguette lay in the middle of the floor, misshapen and covered in saliva.
“YOU’RE ALIVE!”
I dropped to the floor and threw my hands around Noddy’s small body. The scene would have melted any pet-owner’s heart: me, resting my cheek on Noddy’s dome shaped head as I whispered frantic apologies into his ears (“You better not tell Begoña or I will jam another piece of bread down your…”) and him, running his tongue all over my face, ecstatic at this unusual display of affection.
***
That night after dinner, Noddy wandered into my room and lay himself down on the rug at the foot of my bed. He was asleep in a matter of seconds, his breaths growing into soft snores. I closed my laptop and watched his small chest rise and fall. I let him be.
