by Linda Coggin
I steer clear of the newspaper boy. I’d like to ask him the way, but I know what will happen, so I keep going. And I’m not stopping to sniff anything either, even though quite a few dogs have already been out, even this early in the morning.
Thank goodness I can still read. After a false alarm with a Barnaby Road, I see the sign.
I race up the sidewalk and reach the gate. What now? Old ladies probably sleep late. She’s probably deaf too and may not sleep with her hearing aid in. Nevertheless. Time is not on my side. I jump up and over the wall.
“Wake up! Wake up! I need help here. Come to the door and you’ll see who it is!”
I jump up against the gate, willing it to fall open.
“Stop that wretched barking!” A man in pajamas pulls down the window of the house next door. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”
But I keep going. I have to get her attention.
And I do.
I was expecting her to be wearing her nightie, but she is fully dressed.
“Hello! It’s you! Where’s your friend? That nice boy you were with?”
“He’s sick. Very sick. Could you help me, please? If you follow me I’ll show you where he is, because I don’t really know what to do. We ate some bad lasagna from a café last night and although I haven’t been feeling too good, Pip is much worse than me.”
“Can’t you shut that dog up?” The man in pajamas is back at his window again.
“Sorry, Mr. Pettigrew.” The old lady looks up. “I’ll take him inside with me.”
“I’m a girl, actually, not a boy,” I say. “I can’t come in the house. You’ve got to follow me. Please come! He’s very sick. He needs help.” I run around in circles, trot a little way to the gate, and go back to her side. I repeat this several times.
“Oh dear, oh dear. What’s the matter? Has something happened?” She looks up at Mr. Pettigrew’s window. “Won’t be a minute!” she calls up to him. “I think the dog’s a bit upset.”
She turns back to me.
“Oh, dear. I don’t know what to do. I think you’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”
I wag my tail at her encouragingly.
“Is it that you want me to follow you?”
“Yes!” I bark.
The wonderful woman gets her coat and follows me down the road. I go back to her every now and then to make sure she is still coming. We go onto the beach and I race over to the rocks. Pip is just where I left him, with his eyes still shut.
“Oh, you poor boy,” she says when she sees him. “What’s happened?”
I lick Pip’s face and he opens his eyes. They look red and watery. I don’t think he realizes it’s the woman we went to see, but he manages to speak and tells her he’s eaten something bad.
“Well, my boy,” she says, “you’d better come back with me and I’ll see what I can do. Can you walk a little way? No, perhaps not. If you stay here with your dog I’ll go back and get my car. If you can manage to get to it, I can drive you back home and you can lie on a real bed. I’ve got some very good medicine for food poisoning. Will you be all right for a short while? I’m Marjorie, by the way.”
Marjorie’s house is warm and comfortable and simply packed with pictures of her dog, Jessie. I look into the dog’s eyes in a framed photo and I see my eyes staring back.
“You can sleep on her old blanket if you like,” she says to me. “For some reason I’ve kept it, and her travel bed is still in my car. Silly of me, really, isn’t it? I’ll put the blanket down in front of the fire, and Pip, you can have the bed in the spare room.” She makes him comfortable and gives him her very good medicine and pours me a bowl of milk.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dog lie in front of that fire. I miss Jessie, you know, Ray. She understood everything I said to her. Like I get the feeling you do. Is that right?”
I wag my tail.
“Did she frighten farm animals?” I ask her. But she just smiles at me and looks after Pip.
“You and Ray best stay here for a while, Pip, to get your strength up before starting your journey. I am planning on driving you there myself, if you like. To spare you the traveling. I don’t go out in the car much, and a little journey in the country will do me and the car some good.”
Relief seems to flood over Pip’s face. I wag my tail at him. Marjorie’s going to make him better, I know.
Pip sleeps for two days. He tosses and turns, and I watch his color change from very pale to warm pink again. I don’t tell Marjorie in case she thinks I’m ungrateful, but when she goes to bed I lie outside Pip’s door in case he needs me.
Marjorie takes me for early-morning walks before breakfast while Pip is still recovering, and I trot along happily at her side, knowing he is getting well. She is very tolerant and doesn’t seem to mind me stopping every so often to find out who’s been around.
“I can’t see the point in sleeping my life away, Ray,” she tells me as we walk along the road. “I probably don’t have long now. I’m really quite old.” She bends down and gives me a pat. “I’m not afraid of dying, you know.”
I want to tell her about the Job Center and the woman behind the desk and to make sure she goes through the wrong door if she wants to remember who she is, but I can’t put it into words for her. So I just wag my tail.
“When my husband passed away, I got Jessie as a puppy from a farmer. He didn’t want her on his farm. So she came with me.”
I like this story. It means there are probably lots of dogs like me out there, with strange eyes. And the farmer probably didn’t want her because his cows were freaked out by her eyes. I want to believe Jack’s story of spirit dogs.
“My husband never really liked dogs and would never let me have one when he was alive. Actually, he was a very grumpy person. He hardly ever spoke to me. And I had no one to talk to. When Jessie came along it was quite a different story. It was just like having another person living with me, but one who enjoyed my company, never criticized me, and was always happy to see me!”
I think of Jack and how nice it would be if he and Marjorie could be together. I think they would have a lot to talk about. But how could I tell her about this old man a train journey away, who may not even be alive?
We stay with Marjorie for a week. Pip plays cards with her at night and we all settle down together on her sofa to watch television. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a television. I particularly like the wildlife shows. I think neither of us has ever eaten so well either. Marjorie makes yummy casseroles for Pip and gives me the gravy, with some biscuits, for dinner.
Then one day Pip decides it’s time we went on our way. He has the address of his father burning a hole in his pocket, I think, and can wait no longer. He finally tells Marjorie his whole story. She puts her arms around him.
“I’m determined to drive you there, dear. I don’t want you having to tramp the streets again.” Marjorie goes out to check the oil and gas in her car and minutes later comes back in, looking flustered.
“My car is gone! Where my car was is an empty space! I can’t think what’s happened to it.”
“Do you think you parked it somewhere else and have forgotten where?” asks Pip.
“Well, dear, I don’t think so. When I parked it I remember thinking the passenger door was a bit near the lamppost. The lamppost is still there — but not my car! There’s been a spate of car thefts recently. I’d better tell the police.”
Pip is worried about the police seeing him and taking him back to the foster parents and says he better hide somewhere if they come around.
“Well, dear, if you’re really worried I’ll call the police after you’ve gone. So, as I can’t drive you, I’m going to give you my old bicycle. I expect the tires need pumping up. I don’t use it anymore. It’s mainly country lanes to get to your father’s, so you should be all right. Is that a good idea?”
Pip nods and I’m thrilled. It means lots of things to sniff at on the way and a chance to really
stretch my legs. Pip pumps up the tires and Marjorie gives him a pack of sandwiches.
“There’s a little something for you as well, Ray.”
“Thank you, thank you!” I say to her. “You’ve been so kind and saved my Pip. I hope you get another dog one day.”
“Ah, my dears!” she says. “It’s been lovely knowing you. Don’t forget to come and visit if you’re this way again.” And she strokes my head and hugs Pip, and we set off down the road.
There is a wintry sun out and I’m excited. Pip flashes me a grin as he coasts down the hill. We are soon out of the town and in open country. I keep on the inside of Pip when we are on a busy stretch of road, but as soon as we get to the quiet roads I’m all over the place. There is so much to smell. Simply loads of animals have been along the lanes. A badger has been here, a fox has left his scent there, and I nearly catch a pheasant that is pecking by the roadside. Really, they are such stupid birds. I’m glad I didn’t come back as a pheasant. If they didn’t draw attention to themselves by flapping their wings and screeching you wouldn’t notice them half the time. This one is so fat it can hardly get up into the air, and I manage to grab one of its tail feathers before it finally takes off. I give the feather to Pip and he puts it in his hat.
Sometimes I get left behind a little if there is a particularly good smell, but Pip calls my name and it’s my chance to tear along the road and make my ears fly. We stop for sandwiches. Marjorie has put in those little bone-shaped biscuits for me. How happy I am to see them! It’s funny what you take for granted. I wasn’t too pleased with them at Cyril’s, but I haven’t seen them in so long I eat them excitedly. The last one I had was outside my old house on Alexander Avenue. I realize I can remember everything as a dog with great clarity, but when I try to picture my bedroom I have absolutely no idea what it looked like. I just have some vague memory of a swirling pink net.
We continue along the road. Suddenly a hare runs out in front of Pip’s bicycle. He wobbles and I think falls off the bike, but I’m after the hare before I’ve had time to think. How dare it cause my Pip to fall off the bike? What does it think it’s doing? And it hasn’t even stopped to see if Pip is all right. And although I haven’t stopped to see if Pip is all right either, I’m off to have words with it.
It’s gone through a hedge and out the other side and I have too. It’s the fastest thing I’ve ever chased, and every time I think I’m nearly on it, it zigzags across the field and I’ve lost valuable seconds. I think I can hear Pip’s voice calling me, but my concentration is on catching the hare and I can’t possibly stop now. I think I really am flying again. My paws hardly touch the ground. There is stubble in this field that pricks my paws when I do touch down, but the next has been plowed. The one after is rough grass and then I lose the hare! Where has it gone? There is a big crater in the middle of the field filled with brambles and old, rusty pieces of farm machinery, and the hare has gone to ground somewhere in it, I’m now sure. I spend ages sniffing around for it and then finally give up.
I suddenly remember Pip. Where is he? I scan the horizon and all I can see is fields. No road. No bike. I’ve probably been gone forever. I don’t seem to have any sense of time anymore. I try to run back the way I came, but I’m panting so much now that I’ve stopped I can only manage a limping trot. My tongue is hanging out as far as I can get it and I’m trying to catch my breath too. I cross the plowed field, but I’m not sure which stubble field I’ve crossed. There seem to be a lot of them. And now a wind has blown up and if Pip were calling me I wouldn’t stand a chance of hearing him.
I begin to panic. How can I have been so stupid as to chase that hare? How can I have left Pip after my vow never to let him out of my sight? And the more I think about the hare, the more I realize that the instincts of being a dog are taking over the instincts of being Daisy. And it scares me.
I haven’t a clue where I am now. I see a road winding its way between some fields in the distance and make my way toward it. With any luck it’ll be Pip’s road. To get to it I have to go through a hedge and over a ditch, and as I emerge I see something big and metal poking out of the hedge on the other side. I cross the road to check it out. It’s a car with its back wheels in the ditch and its front wheels through the hedge. I wonder if there is someone still in the car, but the door is open and I can’t smell anyone around. I look inside. On the backseat is a dog bed. A red-and-black-checked bed. I remember Marjorie telling me that she still kept Jessie’s travel bed in her car. This is definitely Marjorie’s missing car!
I really want to tell Marjorie where her car is, but I’m not exactly sure I know. I am hoping this is the road Pip is on, but has he passed the car or not reached it yet? He probably won’t know what Marjorie’s car looks like, he was so ill when he traveled in it. And now it’s beginning to rain! Big fat drops are falling on me. Pitter. Patter. I hate getting wet. So I jump into Marjorie’s car and try to settle down.
Someone’s been in the car who doesn’t smell good.
I feel my hackles begin to rise. The smell reminds me of being on the beach. Yes! That’s it. The snake man. This car definitely smells like him!
I get up at once and carefully look under the seats in case he’s still in the car and hiding.
He’s not there.
I put my nose into the travel bed. Yes, there’s Marjorie’s dog’s smell — I remember it from the blanket in the house. Very faint, because it must have been ages since she lay on this bed. She smells like a kind dog. Caramel and wool. She smells like she was a good age. I settle down on the red-and-black bed and wait for Pip.
Oh dear, poor Pip — he is going to be soaked through by now. If only he could get here quickly and take shelter in the car. I hear thunder in the distance and I shiver. I’ve never liked thunderstorms, and now that I’m a dog I seem to hate them even more. I can’t stop my body from shaking and I’m whimpering and fretting now, which I find a bit pathetic, but I can’t control it. What if Pip meets the snake man on the road? The wind has begun to shriek through the trees.
The rain is absolutely pouring down and banging on the roof. It’s like being inside a tin drum. Clatter, clatter, thud, thud. I don’t want Pip to catch a chill. I strain my ears for the whirr of a bicycle wheel but nothing passes. I can hear the gasp of a mouse in the hedgerow, though, and the high-pitched whine of some flying insect. This hearing thing is fantastic.
Eventually the storm blows over and a watery afternoon sun pokes out from behind the clouds. There is a hushed stillness. I get out of Marjorie’s car and decide to continue along the road to look for Pip. It’s a quiet road and only one or two cars have passed me going the other way. A blue van passes me, splashing me with a puddle. Swish. Swoosh. Squelch. Squeal. It slams on its brakes a little way in front of me. A woman gets out.
Now, the Daisy part of me issues a warning. Don’t talk to strangers and never get into a car with someone you don’t know. But the dog part of me is pleased to see someone, and my tail just wags all on its own.
“Hello, little dog,” the woman says, holding out her hand. “Ain’t you got no home? You’re a fine dog, ain’t you? Who do you belong to, then?”
A man gets out of the van and shouts to her. “Don’t it belong to no one?”
She strokes my head and reads the tag on my collar.
“Ray and Pip. Don’t seem to have no number or address. Don’t know if the dog is Ray or Pip. But it looks like a stray to me. We might as well take it. Come on — I’ve got a nice treat for you in the van.”
I obediently follow her. I can see no point in telling her I’m not a stray and, after all, we might pass Pip on the way. Besides, I’m feeling a bit hungry now that I’ve stopped all that panting.
I jump into the van and the woman gives me a gingersnap. The van smells of cigarettes and faraway places. I give it a full examination and then settle down in the front so that I can look out the window.
We drive along the road at various speeds. When the man is lighting a ciga
rette he slows down and when he’s finished he speeds up. I feel like telling him he shouldn’t smoke. That by smoking he’s shortening his life and ours by being in the van with him. But I don’t feel like chatting. I’m keeping an eye out for Pip.
After a while they begin to argue about Marjorie’s car and whether or not they should tell the police they’ve seen a car in the ditch. Then the man turns up the radio and some loud music blares out. I don’t like it and busy myself looking out the window. I want them to roll it down so that I can get my head out, but the man’s put the heater on and I suppose they don’t want to sit in a draft.
We drive along, the man tapping his hands on the steering wheel in time to the music and the woman singing to herself. As we go around a bend in the road I see a bicycle ahead.
“Stop! Stop the van! It’s Pip! There he is! On the bicycle. Let me out. I belong to Pip. I must get to him.” I am scratching at the door now, trying to get out.
“What’s that dog barking for?” says the man. “Shut that barking up, will you?”
But I’m not going to give up that easily. I am desperate now. The van passes Pip on the bicycle. “Stop! Stop! Let me out!”
I race from one side of the van to the other, making as much noise as possible. The man is beginning to look angry.
Pip is riding furiously along the road. I’m not sure if he’s seen me. If only I could have gotten my head out the window. I’m in this blue van and he doesn’t know. I feel as if part of me is lost without him and I’m pretty sure he is feeling the same thing. He’s probably calling my name, hoping I can hear. But I can’t, because the radio is on and I can’t do anything about it. I start to wail. Long, painful sobs that echo around the inside of the van.
“We shouldn’t have picked that dog up,” says the man, taking his eyes off the road to look at me.
“Aw — why not? He’s a nice doggie. He’ll shut up sooner or later — won’t you, PipRay?”
But I continue to whine and we keep on driving, getting farther and farther away from my Pip.
