The Dog, Ray

by Linda Coggin

  The cows in front lower their heads and start to come toward us. They have pretty big horns.

  We begin to back off a bit. I am all for running away, but Pip stands his ground and I love him for it. I love him more than Owen Taylor.

  “Shoo!” he says, and waves his arms. “Get away with you!”

  They are quite near us when they stop. They seem to be looking at me. I think we all must have been holding our breath. Then they snort in unison, shake their heads, turn, and gallop off. I am surprised and then I remember what Jack said to me when we met in the park. About my eyes freaking out farm animals.

  “Come on, Ray, let’s run for the other field before they change their minds and come back,” says Pip.

  We turn to go. At that moment I would have run anywhere with him. But running toward us are two of the officers from the dog pound.

  “Come back here at once! That dog is not your property!”

  “I am!” I shout back at them. “I belong to Pip. You can’t take me back now. Besides, you turned my card around, so you didn’t want me anyway.”

  And with that we run after the cows, leaving the officers far behind. And the faster we run, the more crazy the cows go, until they are bucking and snorting and mud is flying in the air and I am laughing and laughing.

  “It’s you, Ray!” Pip pants. “There’s something about you that’s driving them nuts! Ha! Ha! You good dog!”

  I like that. Pip calling me good.

  We are laughing so much I don’t think either of us sees the Land Rover with the farmer in it. He pulls up and gets out. He is holding a shotgun.

  “What do you think you’re doing on my land?” he shouts, waving the gun at us. “I’ve a good mind to shoot that dog. And I’m perfectly within my rights to do it. Not only are you trespassing but you’ve scared my cattle. They’re in calf and this stupid behavior will probably make them all miscarry. Do you realize how many hundreds of dollars that will cost me? Why can’t you people stick to the trail?”

  I’m sure I’m not alone in feeling sick to my stomach.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” says Pip. “We didn’t mean it. We — I mean, I — wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t see a sign for a trail.”

  “Are you calling me a liar? I have to put up a sign for you awful people. Trails? Bah! Troops of city people walking over my property! Trails should be abolished.”

  The farmer turns back to his Land Rover and goes to take something out. I am sure it is going to be extra bullets. He seems very angry. He produces a piece of paper.

  “What’s your name?” he says, taking a pencil stub out of his pocket.

  “Uh — Phillip. Phillip Seagrove.”

  “And what’s your address, Phillip Seagrove?”

  Pip reels off a number and some street.

  “I’ll be sending the vet’s bill to your parents, then. And you’ve got five minutes to get off my land or I’ll call the police. And as everything that you can see is my land, you’d better get going. And keep away from my cows.”

  The farmer reverses his Land Rover and tears off after the disappearing herd. I sit down on the grass and shake. Mom had a miscarriage when I was eight. I was going to have a baby brother, and Mom and Dad were so excited. They decorated the spare bedroom and bought baby things and talked endlessly about what they would call him. I hated it. And I hated the idea of someone else in the family. I’d have to share my toys with him and later I’d have to babysit for him and I wouldn’t have Mom and Dad to myself anymore and wasn’t I good enough for them?

  And then Mom lost the baby. She had this miscarriage. She went to the hospital and when she came back she cried and cried and they gave all the baby things away and turned the baby’s room into a study for Dad. Though he never studied anything. And it was my fault. Because if I hadn’t hated the baby so much it wouldn’t have died. And now all those cows are going to lose their babies and that is all my fault too.

  “Come on, Ray. We have to get out of here.”

  But I won’t budge. I feel too depressed. And I think that spirit-dog thing is probably a load of nonsense. I don’t think those cows ran away from me because I have different-colored eyes. I think they ran away from me just because I’m a dog.

  “Ray! Come on! We don’t want them to take you back to the dog pound, do we?”

  I kind of want to shake my head, but the shaking-the-head muscles only seem to work if something is irritating it. Like an insect. Of course I don’t want to go back to the dog pound. I want to be with Pip. I’ll do anything for him. Anything he asks. Besides, I don’t want to stay in the farmer’s field. I think he’s probably mad and will return with his shotgun loaded.

  I struggle to my feet. I have burrs stuck to my fur.

  “Is your name really Phillip Seagrove?” I ask.

  “Come on, Ray,” he says. “We need to get out of here.”

  We are walking along the street now and it is getting dark. The soup wagon is back in the station parking lot.

  “I’m starving, Ray. Bet you are too. Let’s get some rolls and go and see Jack.”

  “Jack?” My ears prick up. I like the way I can get them to change shape. I can make them pointed, floppy, or flat. I can raise one ear independently of the other and I can make them fly when I run into the wind.

  “Is Jack all right, then? I’ve been worried. What about his damp socks?”

  And there he is. Sitting on a piece of cardboard, wrapped in a sleeping bag.

  “Ah, you’re back, Mister Pip, and you’ve got Ray. Well done, boy! Did that trick with the newspaper I told you about work?”

  Pip nods. So it wasn’t his idea after all. But I love him, nevertheless. I love the way he grins at me and strokes my head. I love his hair that flops in his eyes and makes him look like a rock star, and I love the fact that he — well — seems to love me. Apart from Mom and Dad, I don’t think anyone else ever has.

  I run over to Jack, wagging my tail, and lick him.

  “I’m so happy to see you. I was really worried,” I say.

  “I expect you thought you wouldn’t see me again, didn’t you? Well, old Jack got better, thanks to Pip. He told the store manager about me and they took me off to the hospital, gave me a load of pills, and now I’m as right as my left foot. And Pip just got a telling off.”

  In the morning, Pip leaves me with Jack.

  “I’m going into town, Ray. I don’t want anything to happen to you again, so you stay here. Jack’ll make sure you’re all right.”

  He hasn’t left me before, and I am anxious. Why can’t I be with him? Has he stopped liking me?

  I sit down next to Jack and watch Pip disappear across the lot.

  “Don’t worry, old girl,” says Jack, “he’ll be back. He’s just gone to get something for you.”

  Is it my birthday? What is the date today? Actually, when was my birthday?

  I can’t quite remember. I’m not trying to remember my birthday as a dog — because that would have been when we had the car crash and that was . . . Well, when was that? Was it Christmastime? Perhaps Dad and I were going to the supermarket to buy a turkey. I can’t quite remember. No, it is my birthday as Daisy I am trying to remember. It sort of swims in and out of my memory like a goldfish.

  I am still trying to remember my birthday when Pip comes back. He is carrying a small brown paper bag and is looking very pleased with himself.

  “Here we are, Ray. You’re official now. They won’t take you away from me again.” And out of the bag he takes a bright-blue collar and on the collar is a tag. And engraved on the tag in big letters is the word RAY. This certainly feels like my birthday, whether it is or not.

  “Thank you, Pip. I feel really special now,” I say.

  But what is even better than my name is that on the back of the tag it says:

  PIP.

  Ray and Pip. I wear it like a locket around my neck. Ray and Pip. And it nestles on my fur close to my heart.

  I want to know when we’re going
to look for Pip’s dad. I think we’ve been in the station parking lot for too long. Besides, I can’t remember the license number of Dad’s car anymore and it bothers me. I’m sure he had a blue car, but when I try to think of the plate number it all goes fuzzy. I think I need some fresh air. Henry VIII’s wives have completely escaped me now. This worries me. What will happen if I stop remembering who I really am?

  It seems that Pip is trying to get some money to buy a train ticket. He has an idea that his father might be living in the same town where he and his mom went to college.

  “We’re going to find him, Ray! Even if I have to call every number in the phone book!”

  He’s left me with Jack a few times to see if he can get any jobs. He’s already swept an old lady’s driveway, washed a car, and carried stuff to the dump. He’s even been paid for walking some dogs! He found an old dog leash at the dump. He showed it to me.

  “You’ll have to wear this sometimes, Ray, when we go traveling.”

  I looked at him. I hoped he could see my mouth turning down with disapproval.

  Pip is coming toward me now across the station parking lot.

  “I’ve got enough, Jack!” he says. “We’ll go tomorrow!”

  And Jack nods and puts his hand on my back.

  “It’s time now, that’s for sure. It’ll be good for your soul to move on. I hope you find your dad. Don’t forget to send old Jack a postcard!”

  But we all know that Jack would never get it without an address.

  “I’ll miss you, Jack,” I tell him. “If it weren’t for you I’d still be with Cyril and I’d never have tasted freedom. You’ve shown me what’s possible in a dog’s life.”

  I nuzzle up to him. He smells of old books and newspapers and the ocean. We sleep.

  I dream Jack is on a large wooden sailing ship with acres of sails. He is at the helm and a huge wave hits the boat side on. Hundreds of silver fish are left flapping on the decks, and as the boat goes up and down the fish slide from side to side. I watch the ship sail away and as it goes over the horizon there is a green flash and Jack and the boat are gone.

  We buy a ticket and get on the train. I’m not allowed on the seat, but I jump up on it anyway so that I can look out the window. I went in Cyril’s car once to go to the vet and I was able to get my whole head out the window. The feeling of the wind was wonderful. It felt like white-water rafting and rappelling and flying all at once. Not that I think I’ve done any of those things.

  The conductor comes by, and I jump off the seat and hide under the table at Pip’s feet.

  “You got a ticket?” he asks.

  I bet he thinks Pip can’t afford a ticket.

  “Yes,” Pip says, proudly showing it to him. I feel proud of Pip too.

  The train stops several times before we get out.

  “End of the line!” someone shouts, and we all tumble out onto the platform.

  This place is by the ocean. I can smell the sea air and it puts a spring in my step.

  “It’s a little late to make phone calls now, Ray,” Pip says to me. “But we’ll find a pay phone and start in the morning. We’d better find somewhere to sleep.”

  There is a pier and a long boardwalk by the beach. Down on the sand there is a food truck. Pip has just enough money for fries and a hot dog. He saves all his change for the phone. We sit on the beach and watch the waves breaking against the shore. Pip gives me half his hot dog and some of his fries.

  “Things’ll get better, don’t you worry,” he says.

  But I am worried. I’m worried that Pip won’t be able to find his dad and then he’ll be taken back to his foster parents. I wouldn’t be allowed to visit him there. I decide that if I can help it, I won’t ever let Pip out of my sight. But before that I just have to run along the shore.

  A breeze has blown up now. The beach is becoming deserted and we wander back into town. We walk down side streets and across squares until we come to the back of a huge hotel. There is a grate in the pavement with hot air blowing out of it.

  “Here we are, Ray. We’ll sleep here for the night.”

  Pip takes out his sleeping bag and an old towel for me to sleep on. It’s quite warm by the grate, but there’s a chill in the air. I give Pip’s face a lick. It tastes salty. I can see a big tear rolling down his cheek.

  “I miss Mom,” he whispers, and makes room for me in his sleeping bag. I crawl in next to him and rest my chin on his hand.

  We are woken early by seagulls screaming at a trash truck. We go back to the beach. I look in the barrels that the garbagemen haven’t emptied yet. I’m surprised Pip doesn’t want any of it. There’s tons of good stuff in here. I hastily eat a potato skin and a stale muffin. Really, I can’t imagine why I was so disgusted by trash. It’s a positive haven of things to eat. Even if it’s just licking something off a paper bag.

  When we get to the beach Pip throws stones into the ocean. He makes them skim across the top of the water. I can still remember my dream about Jack and wonder if he’s out there somewhere in a big wooden ship with acres of sails. I see another dog on the sand and run off to chase it. Then the dog chases me, and before we know it there are three or four other dogs all chasing one another. I hear Pip call, “Ray! Come on!”

  The other dogs know it’s not a call for them and keep on running around in circles. I’m proud that Pip is calling for me and I show off by sprinting very fast across the sand, shouting as I go.

  “I’m here! Wait for me! Don’t leave me!”

  We are trying to find the library. There are so many things I have to get a good sniff at on the way. Simply tons of dogs I’ve never met and probably never will have left me messages on the lampposts and mailboxes. They don’t usually say more than “Hi! I was here and this is my lamppost.” Sometimes it’s someone looking for a mate. It’s a little like being on Facebook. It doesn’t matter that it’s not a worldwide web. It’s small and intimate and how I like it. I want to leave a few messages as well, but I’m not letting Pip out of my sight, so I can only leave one or two.

  My vow to not let Pip out of my sight is short-lived. We find the local library and I have to let him go in alone.

  It’s surprising how many people stop and talk to a dog on its own. I don’t think anyone stops to talk to Pip. Except for the couple of men who wanted to talk to him about Jesus.

  So far ten people have patted me. Two people have asked me if I’m dangerous and will I bite them. And one person has given me the crust of her sandwich.

  At last Pip comes out of the library with a piece of paper on which he’s written some numbers.

  “There are four Seagroves!” he says excitedly, and we leave to find a phone.

  I jump up and down at his side. “Well done, Pip! Well done!” I say as we race along the pavement. “Perhaps they’re all related to you!”

  The first three pay phones we find only take cards or only dial emergency numbers.

  “But this is an emergency,” I say. “You should be able to ask the emergency services to find your dad.”

  I’m not sure Pip is listening.

  “Shhh, Ray. I’m trying to think,” he says.

  Now we’re at a phone that takes coins, and I can see Pip dialing the first number. There is no one there, just an answering machine. Pip hangs up and tries another number. I can hear it ringing. It is in time with my heartbeat, which seems to have quickened with anticipation. A voice is at the other end.

  “Hello,” says Pip. “Does Phillip Seagrove live there?”

  I thought he was Phillip Seagrove. I feel confused. I guess he has the same name as his dad. I can hear the voice at the other end say, “No. No one of that name here.” And then the sound of the dial tone again.

  The third number has a number not in service message on it. Pip gets an answer on the fourth.

  “Phillip Seagrove?” the voice says. “No, I’m Daphne Seagrove.”

  “Are you related, maybe?” asks Pip. “Do you know a Phillip Seagrove?”
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br />   “Now, let me think,” the voice says. “I think my mother may have had a cousin called Phillip. But he wouldn’t have been a Seagrove, of course. Anyway, he’d be dead by now. I’m nearly ninety! You wouldn’t think it, would you? Perhaps it was Patrick, not Phillip. Sorry, dear, I can’t help you.” And the line goes dead. Pip sighs.

  “OK, Ray. Two out of four, voice mail, and a number not in service. We’ll have to try again, but I’m out of money.”

  He seems disheartened. We are back at the grate behind the hotel again. There are a couple of men already there with bottles of cider. They seem harmless enough, but Pip won’t let me check them out. We’ve found some expired sandwiches behind a corner store.

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow, Ray,” Pip says as he hands me a ham sandwich. “This is my first birthday without Mom. She always made me a birthday cake. Chocolate, usually, because that’s my favorite. She gave me this watch last year.”

  He takes a watch out of his bag.

  “It’s lovely,” I tell him. “It even has a date on it, doesn’t it?”

  I’m trying to think of my last birthday, but I can’t even remember if I had a cake. When I think of it, it’s like there is an empty space in my memory where my birthday used to be. And if I think too hard about it, there’s a sort of buzzing sensation in my mind, like an angry insect is guarding the empty space from the memory.

  In the morning I cover him with kisses.

  “Happy birthday, Pip,” I say to him. If I were a cat, I would go off and catch him a little mouse as a present. But what can I give him?

  We go to the beach. There’s no one on it and the tide is beginning to come in. There is a line of plastic bottles and seaweed and bits of driftwood and bits of fishing nets and empty crab shells. All good to sniff at. Pip puts down his bag and begins to take off his jacket.

  “I’ve just got to go and have a swim. It’s tradition, you see. I always have this urge to go into water on my birthday. My mom used to say I was trying to get back into the womb.”

  “But it’s too cold to swim now. What if you get a cramp?” I say to him.

  There is a shoe washed up with the seaweed and I go and fetch it. I start running around him with it in my mouth and drop it in front of him. I don’t want him going in the water. I think it’s too dangerous. When I see he’s not going to throw the shoe, I go and fetch a piece of the driftwood.