Schools Writing
Romeo and Juliet
Jeremy Griffiths
The following short story won a runner-up prize of 00 for Jeremy Griffiths of Moreton Paddox, Warwickshire, in The Spectator's Schools Writing Competition for 1972.
Romeo, the Irish wolfhound, led a pretty normal sort of life. Naturally, he saw things a little differently from us humans but, on the whole, doggy society is much like our own. There is, however, more direct contact and life seems to drift along pleasantly in a succession of walks, feeds, bitches, walks and feeds. It always puzzled Romeo often present on those more intimate occasions when other humans would not have been tolerated, how half-heartedly his master would go about things and he, used to the frontal attack, sometimes mourned the fact that he could not offer advice.
Though, dogs have problems too, we all do, but this particular one threatened to cost Romeo his reputation. Its name was Juliet (whoever would have thought it — Romeo and Juliet?) an attractive mongrel (though with an excellent pedigree). Now Romeo wasn't going to do anything silly like stand whining under balconies or go searching for his loved one amongst the tornbs, but he was in love.
How did he know? One might well ask — Romeo, however, was no fool, he could put two and two together quite easily (though to be truthful he found it difficult to work out the answer) and from what he'd observed he could tell that he, quite an innocent Irish wolfhound, was in love. Hadn't he seen his master scrawling letters into the night, or staring anxiously at the telephone, almost daring it to ring yet hoping it wouldn't?
• Though hardly conclusive proof that his master was in love it put Romeo, trained for this sort of thing, on to the scent. What he read and heard justified his fears. Salvaging one of the many copies of the latest letter from the wastepaper bin, he read: " Dear Mouse (' funny how these humans can see themselves in animals' thought Romeo), I so much enjoyed seeing you (that struck Romeo as reasonable) so I thought I'd write to tell you so (' well, if he can afford the postage '); how we change so; I hear you say 'how true' (' some human cleverness'); you look so lovely when you're crying; I only hope this letter finds you happy . . . " (now it was about here that Romeo either grew a little tired or else this particular copy didn't run to any greater length — he couldn't really remember; but it did strike him, in passing, that this seemed another example of his master's roundabout methods. Anyway, he had had enough to be going on with).
On the whole, it was all very understandable; man doting on woman — what could be more natural? We should all wish them luck but to Romeo it was altogether more sinister — you see he felt sure that he too, if he were able, would have liked to write much the same thing to a certain enticing bitch. And to Romeo, the letter represented a basic human weakness-feeling. For him, rough, free, dependable, Romeo Irish wolfhound to admit to feeling was, to say the least, a blow. On the other hand . . . Juliet was well built, her teeth were gleaming and . . . (wait a minute, I needn't say all this; you probably wouldn't appreciate the finer points of her anatomy, even if I did describe it, suffice to say that she was desirable).
No, Romeo was in trouble — he couldn't even tell her, beloved her, after all she might laugh, turning her back and, although he would have received a definite answer to his hopes, he might at the same time lose her; altogether too great a risk. But the temptation proved too great — so, working on the assumption that all feelings are universal to the same sex (which is to say that all members of the same sex have the same feelings), he took a leisurely walk over to Ramona's house. Now brothers and sisters are really the third sex; but poor Romeo, not having had the benefit of a college education, was not to know this. In fact he had always been very close to his sister Ramona; perhaps that clouded his view.
A cat made its way slowly across a tortuous place, some milk bottles rattled, a postman played paperchases around the waking town and a sleepy looking Irish wolfhound lay between two dustbins. To say Romeo was stunned would be all too convenient, it would be better suited to describe his condition as grave — there was nothing to be done, no patent cures or spells in the 'Proud Petowners' Poodle Parlour and Hospital (other breeds admitted) '. No, Romeo was weighed down by a premonition of doom, inevitable doom. That's not to say his sister hadn't been very helpful — but the question was to whom ?
Being married herself she could, of course, fully appreciate the great advantages of that institution and so longed to share the pleasure she had experienced with Romeo (she'd also always said that he should settle down). So Romeo, looking for a suppsrt for his rapidly failing belief in freedom, ended up with the belief completely shattered. His sister had been bad enough, but the whole house had screamed the benefits of marriage — security, stability, senility, bang ! He was nearly convinced. Even, arriving home, seeing his master cringing in the house before the postman coming up the drive, he only felt a brotherly feeling of suffering not a bol stering of his ideas about personal liberty. "Why should it happen to me?" he wondered. Hadn't his licence always been paid ? Hadn't he been kept on innumerable leads in innumerable parks ? Kept off innumerable inviting patches of grass ? Indeed, Romeo felt pretty hard done by — he had been a good citizen and now had little faith left in democracy.
Several days spent moping around the house only convinced Romeo that he must exercise this spirit — he owed it to his master. Anyway, he was putting on weight and he was too worried, his master too distracted, to contemplate a walk. So Romeo breezed out of the house (with a more than cloudy face). This, argued that part of his mind responsible for his more aesthetic thinking, was a flight for freedom. It has been pointed out before that Romeo was not a stupid dog (fairly clever really) so he kept careful watch on his ideals and he felt sure they oughtn't to force him into a single-handed exploit into enemy (well, Juliet was a sort of enemy) territory. So, sensibly enough, he searched out a few friends; they weren't hard to find (who would ever have imagined they could be ?) and when a presentable band had been gathered they set off. (Far be it from me to show up human action, so let it be noted that each dog was as scared as his neighbour, it was only the safety afforded by numbers and the thought that Romeo could do them a favour someday that drove them on). It was a pretty select group — every one a specialist. The boxer could carry a folded newspaper between his teeth, the collie a packet of cereal strapped to his back, and nearly the whole company could perform various party tricks, like begging, shaking hands and so on, which humans seemed to enjoy — on the whole a force to be reckoned with..
Now it wasn't intended that there should be any violence; it was to be a sortie rather than a head-on clash — but it all happened so quickly . . . there was a yelp, a barely discernible sound of approaching paws and then the whole place went black under a pile of bodies. They hadn't even managed to piece together what exactly had happened *hen they returned home. There was nothing to be ashamed. of however — they had given as good as they got after all. The only trouble was that the relationship between his and Juliet's master, never good, now took a decided turn for the worse. It had been bad enough in Capulet's eyes when he saw Romeo taking a more than academic interest in his favourite bitch, but arriving with a horde of street dogs ! . . . there were recriminations. Romeo had never thought they could be avoided; such is the path of true love, he mused and sidled off across the town, following a rather attractive Irish wolfhound bitch who had just caught his eye, "birds of a feather . . . he thought, "anyway, she was only a mongrel. . , Time passed by, Romeo was reasonably contented; he had by now convinced him self that Juliet no longer concerned him (though it was a constant worry that he found himself thinking of her so often).
His master was going from bad to worse, with the added problem of the feud with Capulet to worry his already confused mind. Though all this. didn't much affect the doggy strata of society and life seemed to drift along pleasantly in a succession of walks, feeds, bitches, walks and feeds.
Yet finally, news filtered through to the dog populace that the feud had been sett led; good news tarnished, it was later learnt, by the unfortunate deaths of two young people who had managed to get caught up in Montague's and Capulet's dispute. This, however, seemed strangely irrelevant to Romeo; anyway, who ever heard of people named after dogs ?
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