Tinteán

An Autobiographical Short Story by by Maurice Brick

In my in-between teens, I had a dog I called Kerry Blue. Now, he was no more a Kerry Blue than I was but a mixture of a lot of things altogether. But I thought the name fitted.

I liked him because he wouldn’t back from anyone or thing. No. He’d rush headlong into whatever he perceived an adversary and flail away like a mad thresher.

There was only one car in the parish: actually, a group got together and bought one and appointed Tommy the driver. He came to Gorta Dubha once and the Kerry Blue took a turn against him and would you believe it, he followed the car for a few miles barking and baring his teeth simultaneously. Tommy drove several miles past his destination for fear of the dog. This was a terrible affront to his now elevated status of Parish Driver and he complained bitterly to my father. My father called me aside by the gable end of the house and said, ‘Whisper here to me, Tommy told me about the Kerry Blue and that’s bad. Listen, if one of ye had to go to the doctor in Dingle, Tommy mightn’t come because of the dog. I don’t want that. You’ll have to head him to the cliffs.’ I didn’t want that so I promised Dad that wouldn’t happen again and I got a reprieve.

In the summer evenings after the cows were milked, we played caid. Caid was a form of football but we couldn’t afford a football so we fashioned a caid. We made it from a small sod of turf and wrapped straw tightly around it and stuffed into an old woman’s stocking as that was pliable. There wasn’t any hop to it but that was a minor drawback. We kicked high up and the challenge was to catch it so the next kick would be yours. But even if you caught it, a ferocious tackle could loosen it and someone else got the kick. I was tall and managed to catch a lot but Jim Pat tackled me once and I landed with a thud on the ground. Well, the next thing I knew the Kerry Blue had a dead man’s grip on the hind quarters of Jim Pat’s trousers, and there he was running and sashaying to and fro, but he couldn’t shake the Kerry Blue. I ran after them and got a hold of the dog and squeezed the little stump of his tail and he let go. Jim Pat was pale with rage and he wanted to kill the dog. Again, I prevailed by promising Jim Pat I’d lock up the Kerry Blue in a bothán ( a small storage shed) while we played.

When we finished, I’d let him out and he went straight for me licking my hands and jumping skyward with excitement. My sister told me that was because he loved me, but in a rural agrarian society it was difficult for me to acknowledge that. And I didn’t, of course, as it would be a sign of weakness.

The Kerry Blue’s days were numbered, however, after an altercation with Mam’s hens. Apparently the hens were gathered in a clutch while feeding, and for some reason the Kerry Blue charged headlong in their midst leaving in his wake flying feathers and hens with beaks agape gasping for air. Shortly thereafter, Mam noticed a reduction in the eggs and she suspected the Kerry Blue. She relied on the sale of eggs to have an extra few bob for Christmas so it didn’t look good at all. Mam never cursed. Never. But she called the Kerry Blue a ‘skallywag’ and that’s the most severe she’d ever go, so I knew it was serious.

At the fair in Dingle, Dad directed me to a fella from below the hill named Kennedy. Dad suggested he might want a dog and to try him. I did and he took him away. Two days later the Kerry Blue was out in our haggard bold as brass. I took him back to the Kennedys below the hill and this time, as I was leaving, I bent to pick up a stone as if to pitch it at him and he scampered way wildly in the direction of the Kennedy house and I was heartbroken.

Some years ago, when I was home from America, I met one of the Kennedy fellas in Dingle. I asked him about the Kerry Blue and he said, ‘He was kinda odd. The children liked him, that’s why we kept him. But off’n on he’d go down the botharín to the main road and he’d lay there for maybe an hour with his nose pointing west. He was odd I’d say.’

I thanked him and headed west for Gorta Dubha by The Long Road and the sun was setting in a glorious panorama of colour. But a mist was gathering in my eyes, and I pulled  over and cried at last for my Kerry Blue.

Mo Kerry Blue le Muiris Ó Bríc

Nuair a bhíosa i mo ógánach ag fás suas ar na Gorta Dubha bhí madra agam go dtugas Kerry Blue mar ainm air. Anois ní raibh aon luid de shliocht an Kerry Blue ina chorp ach thaitin an t-ainm liom. Bhíos ana cheanúil air mar bhí sé lán de sprid agus ní chúlódh sé ó aon ní beag ná mór. Raghfadh sé isteach i lár aon ní a bheadh ag bagairt air agus dheineadh sé ‘n beart gan mhoíll. Bhí sé chomh neamheaglach le tarbh i gcró na mBó.

Ní raibh ach aon ghluaisteán amháin sa pharóiste an tráth san. Is amhlaidh a tháinig muintir an pharóiste le chéile agus chuireadar suas airgead chun gluaisteán a cheannach mar go raibh gá leis.Roghnaíodar Tommy an Táilliúra mar thiománaí mar bhí beagáinín taithí aige ina chomhair. Saghas ardú céime é do Tommy agus bhí sé ana mhórálach as féin.

Tháinig Tommy ar na Gorta Dubha babhta agus ar shlí éigin thóg an Kerry Blue ceann do agus thosnaigh sé ag sceamhaíl agus ag déanamh ionsaí air Tommy.

Tháinig strainc air Tommy agus dhein sé gearán le mo athair, Tháinig m’athair chugam ag binn an tí is dúirt, ‘Cogar a Mhuiris dúirt Tommy liom i dtaobh an Kerry  Blue agus ní maith é sin in aon chor. Dá mbeadh ar éinne againn dul go dtí an ospidéal nó Dochtúir sa Daingean ní bheadh sé ró shásta sinn a thabhairt ann. Caithfimid an Kerry Blue a chur le faill.’ Níor theastaigh san uaim agus gheallas do Dhaid ná titfeadh san amach go deo aríst. Dheineas an beart agus scaoil sé liom.

I rith an tsamhraidh bhímis ag imirt caide sa Ghort laistíos don tigh. Caid Phóca a bhí againn mar bhí Caid cheart ró-daor. Dheinimís an Chaid Phóca le caorán mhóna agus chasaimis ladhar mhaith soip ar nó go mbeadh sé mór a dhóthain agus bhrúimis isteach i stoca  dubh shean mhná mar bhíodar san ana solúbtha. Thugaimis lasca breá cic san aer di agus an té a bheireadh greim ar ag teacht anuas, aige a bheadh an chéad lasca san aer. Bhíosa ard dom’ aos agus bhí deis agam breith ar mhórán. Ach dá mbeadh duine in aice leat, d’fhéadfadh sé gualainn a thabhairt duit a leagfadh an chaid ó do ghreim agus bheadh an chaid aige féin ansan. Thug Séamus Sheáin gualainn dom babhta agus bhíos sínte ar fhleasc mo dhroma ar an talamh. Léim an Kerry Blue agus bheir greim daingean ar bhúndún threabhsair Shéamuis agus seo leoha ar fud an ghoirt agus an bheirt acu greamaithe dá chéile. Chaitheas rith ina ndiaidh agus iallach a chur ar an Kerry Blue scaoileadh le Séamus. Má tá bhí an gubh dearg air Shéamus agus dúirt sé liom an Kerry Blue a mharú. Dúirt mé go gcuirfinn an Kerry Blue isteach i mbothán i an fad a bheadh an chaid ar siúl as san amach. Ghéill sé dom ansan.

 Chuireas i mbothán é agus gach uair a scaoileas amach é thugadh sé poc léime go dtí m’ucht le háthas. Dúirt mo dheirfiúr gur le grá dom é sin. Ach ní raibh sé ar mo chumas é sin a d’admháil toisc go raibh fearaíocht fúm. Ní théadh aon ní a bhaineas le grá nó gol síos ró mhaith leis na garsúin im’ thimpeall. Thabharfadh sé amhras lag ort.

Ach ní fada ina dhiaidh sin go dtárla tubaiste a chuir an Kerry Blue agus mé féin i gcruachás.  Bhí an bheirt  againn ag teacht ón ngort i gcomhair dinnéir i lár an lae agus cad a bhí ach bailiú ár gcearca ag ithe i n-aghaidh an lae. Nuair a tháinig an Kerry Blue i ngiorracht dhíobh chuir an coileach cuthal air féin agus thug sé faoin Kerry Blue agus níor ghá aon tathant agus seo leis lé fuadar isteach i measc na gcearc. Sea, bhí cearca agus cleití ag gabháil chun spéire agus an coileach chomh maith agus nuair a tháinig sámhnas ar an gcogadh bhí cúpla cearc sínte agus an áit lán do chleití. Agus chaitheas mé féin a chaitheamh anuas ar an Kerry Blue chun é a stad.

Bhí Mam bhocht ana trí na céile mar bhíodh sí ag brath ar chúpla dosaen ubh a dhíol chun pinginí breise a bheith aici i gcomhair na Nollag.  B’shin é mo dhóthain. Má bhí Mam buartha b’shin ba mheasa liom ar domhan agus bhí a fhios agam go raibh port a Kerry Blue seinnte.

Bhí Daid ag dul ar Aonach an Daingin Dé Sathairn le ráil bhannaí agus d’iarr sé orm dul leis san chairt’s capall agus go mb’fhéidir go mbeadh fear éigin ann a thógadh an Kerry Blue. Chuas ann agus bhí fear ó lastíos do chnoc, Cinnéideach, agus thóg sé an Kerry Blue. Bhí uaigneas ceart orm i ndiaidh an Kerry Blue ach bhí a fhios agam ná raibh aon ní eile a d’fhéadfainn a dhéanamh.

Blianta ina dhiaidh sin nuair a bhíos ag baile ó Mheiriceá ar laethanta saoire bhuaileas leis an gCinnéideach sa Daingean. Chuireas tuairisc an Kerry Blue air.  Dúirt sé go raibh sé imithe sa chré le deich mbliana agus go raibh an dream óg a bhí sa tigh agus fiú amháin ar an mbaile ana mhór leis agus gur bhaineadar ana shásamh as. Bhí sé de mhéid aige dul síos ón tigh go dtí an príomh bhóthair agus uair a chloig nó dhó suite ar thaobh an bhóthair le dealramh go raibh sé ag fanacht le rud éigin ag gabháil an tslí. Ní dheineamar amach riamh cén chiall a bhí aige leis sin.

D’fhágas slán ag an gCeinnéideach agus shuíos isteach i mo ghluaisteán ar mo shlí abhaile ar na Gorta Dubha. Ní rabhas imithe i bhfad nuair a bhris beagáinín ceo amach ó mo shúile agus stadas ar thaobh an bhóthair agus ghoileas go géar do mo Kerry Blue.

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Maurice Brick (Muiris Ó’Bric) lives in Chicago having left West Kerry for London in 1960 at age 18. He lived in London 7 years and in New York 52 years and left for Chicago when his wife Mary Ellen died several years ago. Though a born and raised New York she chose to be laid to rest in West Kerry.