The Rescue

THE RESCUE

CHAPTER ONE

‘She’s very bright you know,’ Pip said to everyone, when I was little. He may have been biased, but it was still gratifying to have my intelligence acknowledged.

He still said it now, five years on; most recently on their wedding anniversary, when we had a day out to our favourite beach. A little boy miss-hit a tennis ball which landed nearby and bounced over to me. I stood guard over it, my eyes fixed on the boy as he ran over.

‘He looks like he’s talking!’ The boy laughed. ‘He’s saying it’s mine now.’

Pip smiled, reached over and threw the ball back to him. ‘She speaks great English. She just pretends she doesn’t. She’s very bright, you know.’

The little boy rushed off but that day has stayed with me since, because it was a perfect reminder of how happy we were. You know those pictures of a couple wandering along a beach, and the sky is blue and the sea is calm and it’s sunny and everything’s perfect? Well, that’s how it was, on that unseasonably warm day in May.

Pip never liked walking far, so he drove to the car park nearest the sea, while Suki and I took the longer route, along the clifftop, and met him on the beach. The cove was long and narrow and when the tide was out there was a vast expanse of smooth, unmarked sand that was perfect for running and chasing on. No one else there; no paw prints or footprints, just a few seagulls hopping along beside the shore line.

Suki and I ran along the edge of the sea, chasing the wavelets that chattered to us as we splashed in the shallows. I barked and barked and ran in circles, I loved it so much and was so happy to have a whole day with the three of us, on the beach. It was like old times, when I was little and Pip wasn’t poorly.

When we’d tired ourselves out, we ran up the beach to where Pip was sitting on a blanket. We collapsed on the rug, scattering sand everywhere, and lay listening to the sound of the waves scooting along the sand, saying, “Welcome, Moll. Happy anniversary, Pip and Suki.”

Pip and Suki were holding hands and laughing as they ate their sandwiches. Creamy egg mayonnaise that got caught in my whiskers, and tangy cheese and pickle - I got the crusts and a bit more - and Pip produced a little bottle of wine which they shared. I had a bit of wine on the end of Pip’s finger but it tasted sour and I didn’t like it much.

After lunch, we lay on the blanket and looked up at the clear sky above, listened to the curlews crying on the rocks, to the distant roar of the sea - the tide had gone out a long way since we arrived - and the voices of the little boy’s family who’d set up camp the other end of the beach. They had lit a barbecue and I could smell the tantalising smell of beef burgers and sausages, but I knew I must stick with Pip and Suki today, so we stretched out in the sunshine and had a snooze. Well, I did, while I listened to their voices, talking about how they met. I had heard this story many a time, but never grew tired of it, as it changed slightly with every telling.

‘I’ll never forget the first time I met you,’ Pip said with a deep chuckle.

Her laugh was musical and high. ‘How could I forget?’ she said, snuggling closer. ‘It was your eyes that got me - those pale blue eyes that turned dark blue when you looked at me.’

He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close. ‘I was living on White Heather, my oyster fishing boat, and I was content - or thought I was. I’d go to work, go to the pub, go to bed - and do it all again the next day.’ He paused to sip his wine. ‘And then one day, I called in to see a friend, and who should be sitting in his cottage but a girl with a head of brown curls.’

She giggled. ‘We got talking and Becky asked you to give me a lift to the Celtic village the next day.’

‘That’s right. And I went to pick you up and you were running round doing all the chores so we were late getting there.’

‘And we talked and talked and went for a drink…’

‘And then we had supper in the pub the next day. And I took you to see the workshop where I made our jewellery.’

‘And I took Becky’s dog for protection!’

‘Then you had to go home but I wrote to you and asked you down the next weekend.’

Suki laughed. ‘That’s right. I was very touched to get that letter. You said, “Don’t worry about being cold on the boat. I have a hot water bottle and it’s called Pip”. I remember telling a friend and said, “isn’t that sweet?” And she looked at me and said, “Suki. He doesn’t have a hot water bottle!”

Pip kissed her nose. ‘It got you down here, though, didn’t it?’

‘It certainly did,’ Suki said.

‘I never thought you’d come,’ Pip continued. ‘But you did and we stayed up all night on the boat, talking and drinking and smoking.’ His voice faded away and I waited. The next bit was great.

‘I never realised how you would change my life,’ Pip said, sounding dreamy. He smelt of ripe camembert. Delicious and happy and creamy. ‘I was fifty and I’d never been in love before.’

‘I never thought I’d get married,’ said Suki, and love bounced off her like the spring sunlight.

Pip laughed. ‘I didn’t either, but I decided to propose to you that Good Friday…’

‘And I was in a bad mood because I thought we were going to work on the boat - again - but you insisted we went there, and we climbed inside the skeleton of the boat, and then you went down on one knee and asked me to marry you!’

‘And you burst into tears and I thought - oh no, I’ve blown it!’

‘But I said yes and we went to the pub and met Michael and he took us back to their place for a drink. And then we went out on the punt for a trip down the river to celebrate,’ Suki said. ‘We ran away to get married in Gibraltar, and never looked back.’ She sighed contentedly - I could always sense emotions. I could smell their togetherness, which was like a beef scented casserole of happiness: I could taste and touch their joy in the air around me. I felt warm and secure in their love, for I knew it led to me coming into their lives.

Suki sat up and reached for the wine, took a sip. ‘Do you remember, that first weekend on the boat, you said you’d teach me how to make toast in return for sex?’

He nodded, his eyes crinkling as blue as the spring sky.

‘Your toaster was an old wire coat hanger, bent in a diamond shape,’ she said, stroking his beard. ‘We put a piece of bread on it, balanced it over the the single flame burner and singed our fingers.’ She smiled. ‘It worked though, didn’t it?’

He laughed. ‘And then you went on to write about it for that boating magazine. The editor must have had a laugh!’

‘I think that’s why he accepted the piece,’ she said. ‘We’ve had some wonderful times, darling. Just think - we’ve been married twelve years.’

Pip raised his glass. ‘And here’s to many more.’ He caressed my ears, silky and soft. ‘With this one too.’

‘Of course. How could we ever forget the day Moll came into our lives?’ She tickled my tummy. ‘You came over from Ireland, Moll,’ she said proudly. I knew this of course, but I still liked hearing it. ‘The farmer had gone over there to buy some ponies, but he brought you back too, and we found you at a farm near Chacewater.’ She paused. ‘I wonder if you remember, Moll?’

Of course I remembered, though it was five years ago, so it was a bit hazy. I dimly recall the constant movement, the sharp smell of frightened horses neighing and whimpering, stamping on the wooden floor next door while we lay in a big cage in a tangled, frightened heap, feeling sick as we tried to take comfort from each other’s uncertain warmth.

Finally we stopped and were emptied out into a huge container with high wooden walls and sweet prickly straw on the floor - the relief of seeing daylight, of rolling in that loose box! We tumbled and fought, ecstatic at our release, not thinking about what lay ahead.

My brothers gradually disappeared, then one day, two people came in; an older man and a young woman. I could smell their hesitation. The man crouched down in front of us. He smelt kind and gentle. He picked me up, very carefully, and I fitted perfectly into the warm palm of his hand. He stroked my belly tenderly with a large finger and looked up at the woman and his uncertain smell vanished. ‘If you want a dog, you should get this one,’ he said, in a deep voice that made me feel safe.

‘Are you sure?’ Her voice was higher, and she smelt powdery. They played with us a bit, and she picked me up but her hands smelt nervous, as if she was afraid she’d drop me. She held me very carefully, against the soft warmth of her jumper and I could smell hope oozing from her.

They came back the next day, to take me with them. When I saw their car my ears and tail drooped and I weed because it was all so strange and confusing, but we got in and I sat cradled in his big warm hands that smelt of sun baked wood and metal.

When we finally stopped, through the open window I could smell salt blown in on the warm wind. They carried me into a house and he placed me gently on the carpet. I staggered forward, my legs unsure all of a sudden, and she bent down, picked me up.

‘Hello Mollie,’ she said, gazing into my eyes. She stroked my tummy very carefully, and I wasn’t sure what she meant. Mollie? Was this my name?

‘Mollie McGinty,’ he said with a warm rumble of laughter. ‘You’re going to live here now.’

Well, I’d kind of gathered that: I wasn’t stupid. But they were looking at me with such a blast of warmth and joy that I didn’t know what to do. So I had another wee.

They laughed and took me outside, exclaiming, ‘Look at her fat little tummy!’

‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’

‘Her coat’s so white, and her ears so black.’

‘And her beautiful dark eyes - look at those eyelashes!’

‘She’s just perfect,’ he said, and it brought tears to my nose the way he said it.

And that was the beginning of five years of getting to know each other. We went to school, where Pip and Suki learned how to be responsible dog owners. I learned silly tricks like Stay and Wait and Sit and Come (when I felt like it).

From the start, Pip realised that I understood. ‘She knows what we’re saying, have you noticed?’ he said. ‘Every single word.’

Everyone we met, out walking, would admire me - I am good looking, though I say it myself - and he would say, “she’s very bright you know. She speaks very good English.” And because I was such a quick learner, I heard him say one night, “You know Suki, I reckon Moll is up to A Level standard now.” He said it very seriously, and I preened, though I had no idea what A Levels were. Suki laughed and said, “Darling, I know she’s clever, but she’s not even three months old yet. It’s a bit early for A levels!”

We had so many firsts together - my first trip to the beach, where the sand was fine and pale and didn’t get stuck in between my pads. My first swim, when the waves were small and pretty and whispered to me. I was so excited I did a little wee.

Our first long walk. My first trip to the pub and a sip of beer which was acrid and horrible. But the salty sharpness of a packet of crisps made up for it. My first rabbit leg, discovered on a walk at Trelissick. I carried it the whole way round, chewing as we went: I would not drop it for anyone. I got terrible guts ache, but it was worth it. The first time I met my beloved Titch (more of him later) - the first (and only) time I had sex - so many wonderful firsts…..

Talking to other dogs, their owners could be quite soppy with them, but weren’t very often soppy with each other. Pip was different. He wasn’t shy about telling Suki he loved her. And he didn’t just tell her, he drew little pictures and put them in her lunch box when she went to work. He cooked for her. He was always thinking of things that would make her laugh, and he said how much he loved her, every day.

After we’d all had tea, the three of us sat on the sofa watching TV while they held hands. Every night.

She bought cards and wrote little messages for him, which she left on his pillow, or at work. When he got cancer, I was only a tiny pup, and she read up on his illness and talked to a nurse on the phone when he was out. She never made a fuss, but she was always quietly on his case. Doing everything she could to make his life better. Showing how much she loved him.

Sometimes he looked up from whatever he was doing and said, ‘I love you Suki,’ and she grinned and said, ‘how much?’ and he held his arms out wide and said, ‘this much,’ and then she held out her arms even wider, and said, ‘but I love you this much!’ and they laughed and hugged and had this game trying to outdo the other one about how much they loved each other.

And I was always part of it. Every day, they told me how much they loved me too. Pip even drew some pictures of me; they were called Cartoons, and my favourite one was of me running along with my ears flying out behind me. Suki put them in frames and hung them in the living room so whenever people came in, they saw the real me, and the cartoon me on the walls. He also took a picture of me in her arms when I was a tiny pup, and called it “my darling girls’ and said it was his favourite. I kind of liked being famous.

I never thought I would love people like I loved these two. It was quite a nostril opener. It sort of made me feel vulnerable in case anything happened to them, but at the same time love gave me this incredible strength and joy. I felt I could run from here to - to anywhere, if one of them needed me and I would save them.