Backpacking through Asia I landed in Israel and landed on my feet. I moved in with my mate Russ and his girlfriend Michelle who owned a clean contemporary flat in a cosmopolitan part of Tel Aviv. Michelle was a lawyer who paid regular visits to the Knesset, I asked her if she had ever met Arial Sharon? ‘He is a fat pig,’ was her in-depth political analysis. The flat was luxurious with plush comfortable furnishings, widescreen television and a hot shower, all the mod cons. Most unlike the usual flea-bitten, piss-reeking Hostel rooms that I had become accustomed to farting in.

During the day I had the luxury of the whole flat to myself. The only problem was Michelle’s cat. The cat was evil, a really mean, vicious little guardian of Satan. That cat would curl it’s back and hiss at me whenever Michelle wasn’t looking. Sometimes it would hide under a chair and when I was walking past, would leap out and attack me, scratching my legs to shit with its scalpel sharp claws. I told Russ about the demon cat and this is what he advised me, “When Michelle’s out, if the cat gives you any grief, drop kick the little bastard around the room.”

One evening, my dream of being strip searched by a troop of Israeli female soldiers armed with Uzis, was disturbed by Russ and Michelle having a massive barney. We moved out and I soon found myself in Russ’s green work van driving into the night. The inside cabin was littered with scrunched up packets of Noblesse cigarette’s, the outside of the van was covered with a thick layer of dust which someone had finger scrawled Hebrew into. It probably said something like, ‘clean me’ or perhaps ‘cock’. We were headed to Herzliya.

Russ had a room rented in Herzliya from an old Jewish lady. The landlady had the appearance of a bent and shrivelled up two hundred years old witch. Russ told me she had left her tyrannical husband in Yemen and smuggled herself into Israel on foot in 1948, so fair play to that. She shared her white suburban bungalow with a big white wolf-like dog, that appeared permanently chained outside come rain or shine and whom she would regularly beat with her walking cane. I asked what the dog was called, but Russ had no idea, he just advised me not to stroke the flea-ridden beast.

The room was damp, cramped, detached and hidden around the back of the landlady’s bungalow. The room had a skid-smeared toilet and a sink pilled high with a mountain of filthy dishes. There was an ancient refrigerator that didn’t function because the old lady had the electricity switched off. There was no shower and we were not allowed to use the washing facilities in the bungalow, so we had to shower by going outside and pouring a bucket of cold water over our heads. When I moaned about this predicament, this is what Russ told me, ‘When you get to India you’ll have to wash your balls in a bucket, get used to it!’

There were rules to follow squatting in the room. Firstly I was not supposed to let the landlady see me going in and out, because she would give Russ a load of grief and demand more rent money if she knew I was staying there. Most importantly I was not allowed to let the wolf dog out. This was difficult because the wolf dog would start barking noisily whenever he sensed anyone around, and as soon as he started barking the old ladies curtains would started twitching. She was a wily old bag and she didn’t miss a trick.

One morning whilst stealthily sneaking out of the house, the wolf dog came scurrying out of nowhere and slipped through the gap between my legs and darted out of the gate. I tried in vain to shepherd the hairy bugger back in the garden, but soon all the noise and commotion had drawn the landlady’s beady eyes to the window, so I started off down the road, better to hoof it, I reckoned. I soon realised though, that the wolf dog wasn’t going to wander off and do his own thing, instead he was following me, circling my heels, panting with his tongue hanging out, tail wagging like a windscreen wiper, eyes bright with excitement. This was probably the first time the wolf dog had been out in yonks. I tried to ignore him as I walked on down the road, hoping he would get bored and turn back.

I was heading towards Herzilyya rail station, about a two miles hike, and then I planned to get the train on to Tel Aviv. Somehow I had to lose the wolf dog, running didn’t help, the bastard just chased after me, thinking I was playing a game. I’d left the Yemen quarter now and reached the main road, the wolf dog was still circling around me playing, only now he was running  in front of traffic too, he was having great fun! I jumped out of my Jesus creepers as I heard a loud screech of tyres, the wolf dog had run right out in front of a jeep, which had skidded to a halt barely missing him and nearly causing a two lane pile-up. Afterwards the wolf dog ran right up to walk beside me, his reluctant companion. The jeep driver wound down his window and started angrily shouting at me in Hebrew whilst shaking his fist, he probably said something like ‘Cockhead’. He obviously thought the wolf dog belonged to me. I just weakly shrugged my shoulders in embarrassment.

I carried on walking down the hill with the wolf dog in hot pursuit. I was starting to panic, what if the wolf dog followed me all the way to the rail station? This was Israel, they had soldiers armed with Uzi’s guarding the station. How would I explain the wolf dog to them? They might arrest me for causing a disturbance, or worse, shoot me as a suspected terrorist, or maybe I’d get lucky and they’d just shoot the wolf dog. Even if I managed to get past the guards, what would I do if the wolf dog followed me onto the train and came all the way to Tel Aviv with me? How could I go to the Museum of Art with the wolf dog raising his leg over a Lichtenstein? It was no good, I had to shake him loose, but how? The answer came as a Sherut pulled up. A sherut is a shared taxi you can hop on and off. Someone got out, so I quickly jumped in and closed the door behind me. I looked out the window at the wolf dog and saw the sad betrayed look on his hung face as the sherut pulled away, he started running after the vehicle, but the Sherut was too fast and soon we were far ahead, I could make him out in the distance, still giving chase, but I turned to the front because I couldn’t bear to look anymore.

I felt really guilty. That poor dog, all he wanted to do was to play, have some fun and companionship and I just abandoned him in the middle of the road. He was at least a mile and a half from his home, what if he was lost and couldn’t find his way back? What if he ran out in the road again and got run over? These thoughts and the look of betrayal on his sad face went through my head all day. My heart felt heavy and I hung my head in shame as I sat in a Tel Aviv bar knocking back cold glasses of Goldstar beer.

I met Russ later that evening in Tel Aviv and as he drove us back to the room I told him what happened with the wolf dog. “The old bag’s gonna have a shit fit.” Was all he had to say about that. Night had descended when we arrived back in Herzliya, in the darkness I couldn’t see if wolf dog was there or not, I opened the gate and was relieved to hear the familiar racket of his barking, somehow he’d found his way back and the old lady had tied him up in his usual spot, after a bit of a beating no doubt. I never thought I’d be so happy to see him again. A wave of empathy swept over me and I felt like going up and giving him a big hug, but I didn’t, just in case he decided to bite my face off for abandoning him.

A few days later I swung on my backpack and travelled to Egypt. Enjoying the delights of the Red sea I soon forgot all about the wolf dog until I phoned Russ and he told me that the wolf dog had become really sick, lying around weak with fever. Russ thought the wolf dog was going to die, so he forced the dog to vomit, incase the cause was something nasty he had eaten. The wolf dog yacked up poison and then slowly recovered to full health. Russ suspected the old lady had intentionally poisoned the wolf dog so she wouldn’t have to look after him anymore, he finished the call with this, “I ended up saving the dogs life, but I don’t know why, I always hated that fucking dog.”