Black Dog Singing in the Dead of Night

By BJ Compton

"Doc" the Army Medic is given the gift of a puppy, from the jungle of Sierra Leone by a village elder. This is the story of what the pup views as an epic adventure together. He will grow in strength and confidence, and he needs to, for the journey ahead will be hard.
The two of them witness crimes against humanity, one of the world's largest natural disaster relief operations as well as the devastation of modern warfare. That's what Medics sign up for, right?

When Doc returns to a safe home environment, the dog finds he is no longer relied upon as before. The only way for the dog to maintain his highly respected status is to convince Doc that the danger has not gone.

Post-Traumatic Stress or Possession?
It's hard to tell the difference when you think you're going crazy.

The inner voice that had kept Doc alive while in these danger zones served him well but once safe at home, the voice wouldn't stay quiet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Sep 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925529548

BJ Compton

Now living in the Hawkesbury area, half a world away from the northern town of England where he was raised. Having completed his nurse training, the wanderlust bug bit him hard. Deciding to hitch hike from the east coast to west coast of Canada, then buying an old VW Beetle and driving through the USA to Mexico. This wasn't enough to fill his appetite so he volunteered to work in Southern Chile for several months with Raleigh International, an organisation that gives underprivileged kids the chance to develop life skills.Still wanting to see more of the beautiful planet, he joined the military. While sitting somewhere in the desert area of Oman, on September 11th, 2001, the world simply changed. Ten years on, and one too many deployments under his belt, he was diagnosed with chronic PTSD.Having come through the other side of what seemed like a long dark tunnel, he can only thank his loving wife, two children and three furry friends for being by his side.An accidental author is now how he describes himself. Using words in an attempt to take control of his own personal demons, has led to the writing of "Black Dog Singing in the Dead of Night".

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

It was too late in the day for them to enter the jungle village; the light was failing fast, and that meant they would have to make camp a mile from our home and wait for further instructions. He hadn't heard the rapid fire of the assault rifles, but he had seen the frightened birds flying overhead. The old man knew this was a sign that they were coming.

By early morning the sun was rising over the jungle canopy, turning the damp dew that lay on the ground into layers of fine mist. Drifting upwards like twisting fingers of vapour, the mist greeted exotic birds as they flew around the top branches of the ancient trees. The smell of open cooking fires gave an acrid tinge to the air. The damp, burning wood sent out rhythmic smoke patterns, which appeared to weave their way through the branches, as though a huge fisherman's net had been cast over the sea of green foliage. The noise of nocturnal animals and insects had already ceased only to be replaced by the creatures that preferred the day. The women and girls of the village had been up a while now, preparing food for the men who still lay fast asleep on thin straw mats covering the hard floor of bare earth. This was the best time for my siblings and me to meander from one cooking fire to the next in the hope that the children would give us some food. I had already learned that the puppies and younger looking dogs would have more of a chance of being fed by the children than the older scruffier looking dogs. The older dogs knew this biased fact all too well, but that didn’t stop them from joining in on the daily ritual of scrounging around for morsels of food. There was always the chance that a sleepy and slow reacting puppy would drop his treat or completely miss the offering, there would be no second chance with the older dog wolfing down the offering. There is nothing like a hunger pang to keep an old dog alert when around food, reacting quickly as if his life depended on it and to hell with the consequences. A badly aimed kick from a child was easy to dodge and even if the child made contact with the old mutt, the pain from a hungry belly far outweighed that of a glancing blow from a kid’s bare foot. From what little I did know, living in the village was a good life. We had everything we needed, food, shelter and company. I craved companionship as much as I craved food, both offered nutrition and growth in different ways. Being a pup meant I wasn’t as strong or as viscous looking as the older dogs, so I used what I had to gain the upper hand, my cute looks. The villagers would often want to pick me up just as they would their human pups and were quite happy for me to sit on their laps as they engaged with their fellow kind. One of the elders often lifted me up with his huge, powerful hands; each one as dark as the fur that covered my body yet as soft as the skin on my belly. He would seek shade underneath his favourite tree and from where we sat the village spread in all directions, our resting place serving as a centre point. There he would happily rest with me curled up on his lap. At first, I would try and jump down, so I could go find my brothers and sisters, but as soon as my weight shifted, I would feel the gentle pressure from the giant hand stroking me as if wanting me to stay, and so I did. I’d remain with the elder for hours at a time, feeling the passive warmth of his body wash over me. My tiny body would relax, and my racing mind would slow down to take on an inner peace as if I was under some magical spell. I had seen how the other humans of the village respected this man whose lap I used as a soft, warm bed and noticed how the other people would change their body language in his presence. He wasn’t the leader of the pack, he was something more, what that was I didn't know.

As I sat with the old man that morning, I observed his ways as he summoned a teenage boy over and made the young man sit with us. The old man patiently explained to the boy that the forest would provide and that the great spirit of Juju would keep him safe. Whilst talking with the boy, the old man moved his hands in a gentle fashion around the teen’s hair and before I knew what was happening the young man stood up and thanked the elder for the small piece of metal that was now woven into his hair. The old man acknowledged the young one’s gratitude with a smile and waved the teenager away as if not to delay the boy any longer than necessary. It was as if teaching important learning did not have to be a drawn out process but can be spoken and grasped in a fleeting moment. I didn’t see the boy after that day and assumed he had gone out, into the jungle to hunt for food with the other young men, as was often the way. The boy would probably return days or even weeks later with his kill, and it would be shared amongst his people. 

The next day started out the same as all the days that had gone before with the sun rising, the normal run around the village fires for scraps of food, the play fighting with my siblings and then a welcomed rest on the old man’s lap. I must have been deep in sleep when an unusual sound of barking from the older dogs caught my attention. Filtering through my dreamlike state, it caused me to sit upright, alert and ready to fight if necessary. I soon felt the familiar, comforting, gentle hand on my spine, transmitting a message of peace and calm without a word being spoken. The elder’s hand was like the warm blanket of a child's bedding, letting me sneak under cover when seeking protection from the chill of the night air. The touch from his hand instantly calmed my instinct to jump off the man’s lap, preventing me from seeing what the commotion was all about. Instead of joining in with the pack of barking and howling dogs I stayed with my keeper, who remained sitting under his favourite tree and waited patiently as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. From out of the jungle appeared a pack of strange looking men. I could tell by the reaction of many of the villagers; they too had not seen any white skinned folk before this day. For all I knew and for all the villagers knew, these beings could have come from the stars and not of our world. Everything about them was alien to us. The adult dogs that lived in my village were roughly all the same size and shape but varied slightly only in the colour of their fur, the humans of the village were all similar in shape and size, but they all had very dark skin, some darker than others. But these strangers came in all shapes and sizes, and they all smelled strange, some sweat and some pungent. They went about communicating to themselves in some kind of sign language, and when they eventually did speak, it was with a strange tongue that I had not heard before. One of the white strangers even spoke into a magical box that had a stick poking out of the top of it. A distant voice could be heard coming from somewhere inside the box, with a crackly sound that bounced all around it. The only thing these strangers had in common with each other was the type of clothes that they wore; it was all the same. Dark broken patterns coloured their clothing so that they blended with the jungle they had just walked out of, like unseen ghosts.

The adults had stopped what they were doing and turned to observe the visitors as they made their way to the centre of the village. The white stranger at the front of his pack made friendly gestures to the children that dare poke their heads out from behind the safety of their mother’s legs. I could smell the tension that was wafting back and forth between the two groups, the visitors and the villagers. There had always been peace within our community, and this new odour made me nervous. The white leader held out his hand showing all that it contained was some type of food looking substance that I had never seen before. He gestured to the children to take it from him, showing them it was safe to eat by breaking a small portion off and eating it himself. He then smiled and rubbed his stomach and made the noise that was familiar, of any man eating something that is good. This encouraged one of the braver kids to come forward, quickly snatching the offering from the stranger’s hand then running back to take cover behind her mother. The child clung to her mother’s leg as if this would be able to make her invisible to the prying eyes of the pack of strangers, who looked on to see what the child would do. 

The child bit into the food substance and seemed to want to savour the experience, but her eyes gave away the result long before she said a word. Scrumptious.

The little girl held the remaining piece of food up for all the other children to see as well as the adults like she was waving a prize or trophy that had been bestowed upon her. The little girl’s face was incentive enough for all the other kids of the village to come out from behind their parents and rush towards the line of white-faced strangers. The other strangers followed suit of their leader and pulled similar looking foodstuff out from one of their many pockets or the bags that were strapped to their bodies. The children ran towards the pale men who were now holding out gifts with their hands stretched towards the stampede of smiling faces. The mad rush was soon over, each child from the village returning to the line of adults with their prize, like some well-rehearsed game.

The packaging that the food came in was examined as closely as the contents. The green outer foil that surrounded the food once pulled apart with hands or teeth exposed the biscuit, but also revealed the shiny reflective surface of the inside of the wrapper.

To some of the older children, this was a greater discovery than the brown sweet tasting substance they had just been given. As the white men looked on, at first they appeared to be pleased with themselves, that they were able to make the children happy by giving away food that they probably didn’t really need. By looking at the size of their bellies and the roundness of their faces, there was no shortage of food in the white man’s village. It wasn’t long before the white man’s look of pleasure turned to one of bemusement as the older children would make the younger children stay as still as possible whilst braiding and weaving the shiny food wrappers into the youngster’s hair. The white tribe may have magic to make a voice come out of a small box with a stick on the top, but they obviously did not know the Juju power of shiny objects protecting the wearer from the cold blade of the machete or the burning pain of the bullet. The majority of the white men looked on at this activity as if it was the first time they had seen such a thing. Some of them gestured to throw the wrapper away and concentrate on eating the food by demonstrating with their own food and wrappers. As soon as the packaging hit the floor a small, black hand would quickly pick it up and for safe keeping.

The children looked back at the white strangers with the same look of bemusement that had fallen on them, as if to say don’t you white adult fools know nothing? The leader of the white tribe steadily walked over to where the old man and I sat. There was an attempt by both parties to show openness and friendship, but I was picking up on something else, the stench of the white man told me he was a little scared, somewhat nervous. What intention did he have that made him nervous?

When the pale hand reached forward towards my master, I did what I thought was best and bit down hard on the open hand. The white man did what anybody would have done, he withdrew quickly; my razor sharp puppy teeth had punctured his skin, allowing the warm red blood to trickle out of the entry wound and down his wrist. At first, I was proud of my actions; I had protected my elder and shown him that the white leader bleeds just like any villager, and I was there to protect him. The elder was up onto his feet in a flash, which sent me flying across the ground in a violent manner; I had never seen the old man move so fast before. Shaking off the dust, I got to my feet and trotted behind the elder, with my tail well and truly tucked between my legs and my head stooping low.

With only my eyes pointing up towards where the two men were now engaged in a flowing conversation, the elder looked in my direction I felt obliged to lower my eyes to the ground in a sign of total submission. My elder was speaking a kind of language similar to that of the white man, the white man was nodding and appeared to understand clearly what the elder was saying. As a dog, I only had to hear the words from any person’s mouth and I generally get the gist of what they were saying, it’s all down to the delivery, the presentation, the tone and the body language, I suppose. The elder offered comfort to the white man, asking for forgiveness and that no revenge would be required as the matter would be dealt with. The white man was quite calm and gestured that it was totally his own fault for reaching down towards me, explaining that he had no right to do so. The man with blood dripping down his wrist made it clear that no harm would come to the people for this natural occurrence and not to worry about what had just happened, he then went on to say,

We will return tomorrow with more gifts for your people, in exchange I will need to know where the bad men are, okay? 

Having spoken these words to the elder, the white tribe soon left.

The children of the village now feeling confident and no longer afraid walked alongside the white men, escorting them to the edge of the village. The jungle, enveloped them like the arms of a mother around a child, the white tribe with the aid of their strange pattern clothing blended into the environment, making it hard to work out what was man and what was jungle. Everything in the village returned back to normal, the only evidence that the strangers had been here at all was the shiny material that clung to the hair of the children.

All was well. That evening the elders gathered around the main fire to talk about the day’s events and what the impact of this visitation meant to the people of the village. Some elders argued that they should abandon the village for a while and move further into the jungle. This would give them time to assess if the strangers were a threat or not? Some declared that the white men would not return as there was no diamonds or rebels nearby, but my elder paused and weighed up everybody’s concerns, before speaking. The old man smoothed the ground with the sole of his bare foot so that the ground was clear of any leaves or sticks; he then emptied the contents of a small leather pouch that he had tied to his wrist.

The small bleached white bird bones fell to the newly flattened ground, and the old man examined how the bones had landed. After considering the pattern, he raised his head to the night sky; the stars penetrated the jungle canopy like the eyes of a huge jungle animal looking down on the village. The old man received a massage from some unknown entity now understanding what needed to be done. The villagers were told by my elder that everything would be alright, and the white tribe would return as they said they would. The main concern from the villagers was quashed as the elder allayed any fears that no one would take the children away or hurt anyone. This he somehow knew to be true, and with similar words of reassurance the villagers made their way to their own nearby huts and settled down for the night. With all the excitement of the day, I soon fell asleep amongst my siblings, with just the odd wriggle of a puppy here or there getting comfortable by snuggling up. I don’t recall how long I had been asleep before my elder gently picked me out of the pack, supporting my bodyweight with his forearm. I may have glanced up to see the elder soothing me with some magical words of kindness or were they just magical words; I can’t remember; I just know that whatever he said swirled around my head.

The words made no sense or the sensation that accompanied them as the feeling of the sharp pain soon left my body. I had complete and utter faith in my elder, knowing whatever he did was for a reason, and the reason was always full of best intentions. Just like all mornings, dawn arrived quickly and yet again it was time for the women to rekindle the cooking fires, and so began another day in the life of the jungle village.

I was wide awake well before any of my siblings stirred from their deep sleep, and when they did awake they just ignored me, they were more than likely preoccupied with the thought of finding scraps of food to fill their bellies. By the very meaning primitive life is simple, rise in the morning, sleep when it is dark and in between the sun and moon find some food and water. Some of the puppies were lucky this morning and obtained mouths full of scraps whereas the slower ones had to make do with what was dropped by the fortunate dogs. My appetite was not strong on this particular morning, which I thought to be very unusual at the time. I followed the rest of the dogs out of habit from cooking fire to cooking fire and then made my way to sit with the elder who seemed to be troubled.

He waited patiently for the return of the white tribesmen and to take them up on their offer of supplies for some useless information on the whereabouts of evil men. The elder knew that evil men fill the world so it didn't really matter to which way he directed the white tribe, they would surely find someone that fitted the description. Sheepishly climbing onto the elder’s lap, I was able to curl up and make myself comfortable watching the activities of the village go on, as it did like all other days. The shadow cast by a limb from the tree moved in a methodical manner across the open floor of the centre of the village from where the old man and I sat. By the time the shadow had changed from being a line in front of my nose to that of a line to the right side of where I was laying, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I was starting to become restless but did not want to draw any attention from the elder, who had happily ignored me all day even though I was lying in his lap. A familiar smell that was carried on a light breeze caught the attention of my olfactory senses and then the noise of a twig being broken somewhere in the distance made my ears prick up and rotate slightly to the direction of the sound.

The elder must have felt my body tense and thanked me for my service in alerting him to the fact that someone was approaching the village. I then heard the squawking sound that I instantly knew had come from the magic speaking box that the white stranger had carried with him yesterday. This was soon followed by the foliage at the edge of the village parting to allow the same group of white strangers to come forward and head towards the tree where we were sat.

The rest of the villagers stopped what they were doing and gathered to see why the dogs were barking, soon realising that the strangers had returned as promised. The adults allowed the kids to approach the strangers who now had more bravado and a natural curiosity that all children should possess. The white strangers produced a wide range of items to give to the kids such as food and a wide array of shiny objects as the strangers had observed how the children liked to put sparkly things in their hair. The children’s confidence grew with some even daring to touch the bear arms of the strangers, which seemed to mesmerise the majority of them. A little girl put her hand over a white man’s forearm, turning to her friends and telling them that the man had more hair on his arm than the monkeys that lived in the trees. 

The children laughed at the expense of the white stranger, but he was none the wiser to what had been said until a member of his people who could understand or guessed at what the girl had said explained it to him. 

She thinks you’re a fucking monkey, the white man said laughing and pointing