by Noel Mcgivern

Created on: May 15, 2009

The puppy had been a surprise. Three weeks before Christmas his father had arrived home carrying one of the wooden boxes used for pharmaceutical deliveries to his business. Announcing "I have a new friend for you," he had placed the box on the floor before Dan. As he did so a small floppy eared black and white puppy climbed out. Dan's sister, Jan, got to it first. She was kneeling before it laughing as it jumped at her and rubbing its ears as the little tail wagged.

Dan hesitated. He wanted to demonstrate that he was the one who knew more about dogs. He wanted to establish his ownership. But he'd had no time to plan. The puppy had arrived without warning. All he could do was reach forward and stroke the soft fur on its back. His parents were looking at him, expecting him to express delight. To be given a dog was a great privilege. He knew he should have been showing gratitude but his excitement was mixed with worry. He did not know what to do. His mother, even, had to show him how to pick up the puppy and hold it

Looking back, Dan could not remember when the dog's name was decided on, but the name's origin was unmistakable. He was called Scooby after the cartoon character Scooby Doo. He remembered getting up early to feed the puppy a special food of granules he had to mix with water. He had to lift the wet or soiled newspapers from the kitchen floor a put new ones down. He was certain that he had lavished great affection on the puppy and that the affection had been reciprocated. He could not recall what, if any, attempts he had made to train the dog, beyond a vague remembrance of encouraging him to sit.

In a class which contained many future doctors and lawyers Dan struggled to remember the direction of the loops on nines and the letter P. His writing was barely legible. He could rarely write a sentence without crossing words out. The diagnosis was the same at home and school; the boy was careless, lazy and wilfully stupid. That he left whole words out of sentences, or wrote the completely wrong word, proved that he did not concentrate. What infuriated his mother was that he was clearly bright but just wouldn't try. In the years to come his condition would be given a name.

When he looked back he knew that the failing had been in teaching not his learning. He had no more chosen his incapacity to remember the order of letters that he had chosen his height or eye colour. It had been how he was. But the boy had blamed himself. He was stung by every failure

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