Greyfriars Bobby: The True Story of a Dog Page #3

Call him "Bobby" and fetch him to me.

- You or any of you bairns.

- Aye.

The one that brings him

will get a silver shilling.

Have ye taken leave of your senses?

I'll have every bairn in the

neighbourhood climbing over my kirkyard.

And half of them are

like wild beasties as it is.

- No' with me, they're not.

- No, because you're soft wi' 'em.

I'm no' soft wi' any living thing.

A bairn's like a dog in many ways.

Take a stick to one or the other

and he'll misbehave the worse.

The bairns around here are poor

and neglected.

But they're no' vicious.

Get on the right side of them

and you'll live easier.

Wait a minute. You say there was

a dog here yesterday?

Aye, wi' a funeral.

And creeping about here afterwards.

- Whose funeral?

- An old man named John Grey.

Dead of pneumonia

in a lodging house.

Pneumonia?

Aye, that'd be it.

Carried here by a bunch

of jailbirds as you never did see.

And no mourners.

John Grey you say his name was.

I knew him as old Jock.

And if the wee dog was with him,

he had a mourner, all right.

Poor old man.

I drove him to his death.

- What are ye saying, man?

- He came to me sick.

I said he should be in the infirmary

and went for a doctor.

But he went away,

an old sick man in the rain.

- Where's he buried?

- Over here.

That's where they laid him down.

What's that?

Bobby. Here, laddie. Come here.

There.

Come out now. I'll fi...

You have him, huh?

That's the dog I put out before.

Aye. The old man was his master.

Be that as it may,

the dog's no' staying in my kirkyard.

And it's past time

for lockin' up.

Can he no' bide here till he's claimed?

No, he cannot.

It's against the regulations.

Then you put him out.

You and your regulations.

For I can no'.

Good night to ye, Mr. Brown.

There. Now he's out.

And good night and good riddance

to the pair of ye.

Jamie, what on earth were ye doin' out

there in the dark, man?

Administering the law.

What James Brown says

in Greyfriars kirkyard is the law.

Now what are we gonna do, laddie?

Ye can no' get in there now. It's locked.

Face up to the fact:

You can no' get in.

Why don't you come home with me,

laddie? I'm not a bad man to live with.

Will you no' come?

What's all the disturbance about?

- Quiet!

- Whisht, Bobby.

Mr. Traill, have ye taken to

a dog at your time of life?

- I would if he'd only take to me.

- Then keep him in order.

How do ye expect my customers

to read enough to satisfy their examiners

if they're disturbed

by all this barking?

You'll stop that dog's noise

or I'll send for the police.

Geordie Ross!

- Yes, Mr. Traill?

- Geordie, I have a problem.

Would you like to earn a sixpence?

A sixpence?

Aye, I would.

Then it's yours... if ye know a way

to smuggle this dog into the kirkyard.

- And never mind why.

- Well, there might be a way.

- And you're the man who knows how?

- Aye.

Give me the sixpence.

Aye, ye like me now you're gettin'

your way, don't ye?

Here. And, Geordie,

if ye say a word about this to anyone,

I'll gi' you a good lickin'.

I will no' tell, Mr. Traill.

I'll be very discreet.

- And that's the whole story.

- Dear.

Nay dog will be permitted in Greyfriars

kirkyard as long as I'm caretaker here.

Good afternoon. There's not much left

to eat, I'm afraid. It's after 2:30.

I've had my dinner.

I'm lookin' for a dog,

and I was directed here.

A dog?

I'm from Cauldbrae.

The dog belongs to my bairn.

He ran away to follow an shepherd

body that worked for me.

- Old Jock?

- Aye. You know him?

It was no' right of him

to win that dog away from my bairn.

Old Jock's dead, mister.

- Dead?

- Aye, of pneumonia.

And buried these four days since

in old Greyfriars kirkyard.

Greyfriars? Well, that's o'er grand

for a shepherd body, isn't it?

Aye, but no' so grand as heavenly.

Oh, poor old Jock.

I shouldn't have let him go,

but I had no choice.

I didn't realise he was that sick.

If I'd known...

Well, he's dead.

Maybe there's others to blame.

The dog's been here every day since.

He's sleeping off his dinner.

That's Bobby, all right.

That's Jock's plaidie he's sleeping on.

I bought it from the keeper

of the lodging house he died in.

He looks well-fed too.

- You've been good to him.

- If you think I want to keep...

You could, if it was up to me,

but my bairn's grievin'

her heart out for him.

It's best he should go, in any case.

He'll have none of me.

He eats here, but he lives in the old

kirkyard where he's no' permitted.

That hard to catch.

- Take him away.

- Aye, I'll take him.

- He'll have a home.

- Hold him close. He'll no' like goin'.

Come on, Bobby. It's me, it's me.

Thank you, mister.

Here.

Wrap him in the plaidie.

It'll hold him firm.

And take him now. I'm busy.

- Giyup. Go on.

- Did you find Bobby, Father?

Aye, I've got him here in the cart.

Whoa, boy. Whoa.

- Take him away, Wattie.

- Right, Father.

Just you settle down in here, laddie.

That's right.

Now make him a bed out of that straw,

Elsie. That's right.

- Underneath there.

- Poor Bobby.

Bide here. I'll come for you

in the morning.

You'll have to feed him

and lead him on a rope for a wee while,

but leave him in here

until he's used to it.

Now come on, lassie.

Bye-bye, Bobby.

Now you've got Bobby back.

Away to bed.

Here, lassie. Take Jessie with you.

- Off you go now.

- Good night.

- Did you find him with old Jock?

- No. Old Jock is dead.

- Dead?

- Dead of pneumonia, poor old soul.

But you know what?

He's buried in Greyfriars itself.

Old Jock among the lairds and ladies?

That's over grand for him.

Well, his grave's nigh

to the martyrs' monument.

And you know, wee Bobby there

slept on it every night.

And hid from the caretaker,

for it's strictly forbidden.

He's got no respect

for the law.

It's that dog.

And how did he get back?

I'll put a stop to this.

John Traill told me a wicked lie.

- Mr. Traill?

- Aye, he said the dog had been took away.

So there you are. So you're back.

And how did you get back?

Don't be lookin' so pleased

with yourself.

You're breakin' the law of trespass.

And look at him.

All mud and tangled hair.

Like an old fishwife from Cowgate itself.

And just as useless.

No' useless, Jamie.

See what he's done?

Four great rats he's killed.

You're a brave wee dog.

Laddie! Look at that.

He's going out, and staying out,

if I have to take him to the police myself.

He's killed his own weight in vermin.

Look here, and over there too.

You know well

how they pester the kirk.

I'm no' saying

he's no' a bonny fighter.

But he's still breakin' the law.

And there's only one thing to do with him.

Aye. There is only one thing to do.

And we'll do it right now.

We'll give him a good wash.

A good wash? Have you taken leave

of your senses, woman?

I'll do no such thing.

And when he's dry, Jamie Brown,

he'll be needing his breakfast.

He looks fair thin.

Breakfast now, is it?

A bit of liver and suchlike, no doubt.

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