Psycho Eyes Shamus

“No boy! Stop that! Down Shamus!” I was shouting from about 20 meters away. Shamus, foaming at the mouth with aggression, has my best mate pinned down is going to town on his leg. Duran is screaming for my help. Now, if Raton-el-Toro attempted to hurt my friend I would not hesitate to split it up – but this is no measly fighting bull. This is Shamus.

We got Shamus as a puppy. He was a Retriever cross Furyan. Maybe his dad was a honey badger or something. Well, actually, Shamus started off life as any fluffy blond-haired puppy would. Cute, curious, friendly and full of exuberance. Easy to train too: Rolling over, sitting, high fives and jumping onto the table on command. Lovely family dog.

We used to take the dogs for a walk out into the bushveld on the other side of town. Now, looking back, I cannot understand why? I mean Witbank is surrounded by veld so why the heck did we trek to the opposite side of town to walk the dogs? Anyways, we had all three dogs on the back of the bakkie and Shamus jumped off. Nobody noticed. We all got home covered in dog saliva coated blackjacks and noticed he was gone. Two weeks later, after searching and posting adverts, we had given up hope of finding him.

Somehow he found his way home. I doubt it was anything like Homeward Bound with the beautiful scenery and mild close calls with a cold river or a porcupine. This bugger got through Witbank! Roaming the streets at night, fighting for scraps against the the meanest, most aggressive, big toothed and wide eyed hobo’s in the world. Their hobo ass dogs are pretty mean as well.

Somehow, Shamus made it back home but he was never the same. That puppy twinkle in his eyes had disappeared. He still loved us, still super friendly to us, but as soon as any other person walked into our yard the skies would turn darker. His growl was menacing, his eyes went pitch black as he sunk low down and stalked towards the intruder. He wasn’t defending his turf anymore…he was hunting.

So, needless to say, we had to lock him up when we had visitors. Or when the garden service came around. Or when the maid, the postman and even the friendly granny from down the street were anywhere near the main gate. He was insane.

So why not put him down? You know, we learnt to deal with him. He was still a fantastic dog and treated the immediate family really well. Also, South Africa was going through some pretty rough transformation violence at that stage and having this nutter in the yard meant we never had any hassles. Be it from political or biblical influences. He was still very obedient to my Pops and so as long as he was in the crowd you were safe.

He lived for over 10 years. Served our family well. He earned the name “Psycho Eyes” from Uncle Steve. Uncle Steve is wheel chair bound after a seriously hectic bus accident. Being in the wheel chair meant he was always eye level with Shamus. Shamus used to just stare at him – right in the eyes. No matter where he was, locked up in the courtyard or behind the gates, he would stick his head through the gap and stare at Uncle Steve with relentless intensity. I always wondered what would happen if Shamus got out? 

So, the joke goes: What do you call a 500 pound Gorilla?

“Sir”.

So when Shamus is shagging the hell of your best mate’s leg…You just let him finish up.