The Dog With Nine Lives (3 page)

Who's afraid of cows?

I
T'S HARD TO SAY
whether Lindy actually recognised us as being the ‘betrayers who had lured her away from her beach' when we first visited her in quarantine. I suspect she didn't. And, actually, I didn't recognise her the first time I saw her either. Her ribs and backbone jutted through her dull brown coat. She looked woebegone and smaller than I remembered.

‘I think they've sent us the wrong dog,' I said to Tony, as I fondled one long brown ear. ‘This isn't her, is it?'

‘I think it is her. I remember her having a torn ear.' Tony's always been more observant than me.

Her ear wasn't, in fact, torn, the edges were too neat – it looked more like her ear had been cut neatly with a knife – I'd heard that hunters often used knife marks to identify their dogs. I suspected that Lindy had once belonged to someone, who'd either abandoned her or perhaps just thrown her out to have her pups. I figured that if he'd wanted her he'd had every opportunity to collect her from the sanctuary and hadn't – so he obviously wasn't too bothered.

When we got back after that first visit to the quarantine kennels I checked the photos we'd taken of the dog on the beach. It was definitely Lindy – the same neat cut in the ear, and the same white spotty paws.

She'd been fat with milk when she'd been on that beach, but now her milk had gone I could see what poor condition she was in. The first thing we did was to arrange with the kennels for her to go on a special diet. They were as keen to build her up as we were.

‘You won't recognise her by the time she's ready to leave,' they assured us, and they were right. Over the next six months Lindy filled out. Her coat became glossy, her eyes shiny. We went and visited her most Saturdays, we took treats and we stayed and played with her. When we left she didn't race around like the other dogs or bark, she sat proudly in her outdoor run with her chest sticking out, watching us go.

We hadn't seen Sandra and Colin since the wedding and we hadn't told them about bringing Lindy back to England. Tony wanted to keep it a surprise and they lived in Nottingham so it wasn't difficult. But one day about three months after Lindy had gone into quarantine they came down to Dorset to stay with us for the weekend.

‘Let's take them up to the kennels and surprise them,' Tony said. ‘We can go to Salisbury shopping and you can pretend you have to nip into the kennels on some rescue mission.'

I regularly helped out dog charities so this wasn't too far fetched an idea.

Sandra and Colin suspected nothing. As far as they were concerned the dog on the beach in Rhodes was ancient history. Although they did know we'd taken the mother and her pups to the sanctuary.

We set off to Salisbury, having mentioned that I needed to drop off some dog food at a kennels en route. When we pulled into the car park, they pulled in alongside us.

Tony, Adam and I got out of the car, trying to hide our excitement. I couldn't wait to see Sandra's face when she realised what we'd done.

‘Why don't you come in and have a look at the dogs,' Tony said casually.

Sandra didn't need any encouragement. A little troupe of us set off for Lindy's kennel. Sandra must have known something was going on when we went into the back entrance – the quarantine kennels had large runs on the front and you could walk through from the back. But she didn't actually realise what was happening until she saw Lindy.

‘It's that dog,' she gasped. ‘You've brought that blinking dog back from Rhodes.' And she promptly burst into tears.

Lindy must have wondered what on earth was going on, having two extra humans crying over her. It was a very emotional moment. Since that day in 2002 we've sprung several surprises on Sandra – but I don't think any of them have been quite as much fun as that one was!

The weeks went slowly by and then finally it was time for Lindy to come home, what a birthday present that was!

Tony, Adam and I went up to get her. She had already stolen our hearts by then. We were all a bit choked as we put on her new lead and led her out to the car for her first real taste of England. I wanted to take her to a beach. For the last few months I'd dreamed of seeing her run free on a beach in England. But in reality I knew it was best to let her settle down first. She needed to meet Katie, Abel and Jess and she needed to get her bearings.

Whichever way you looked at it her life was going to be very different from what it had been in Rhodes, or indeed from what it had been for the last six months.

She got on well with the other dogs straight away. Abel, our greyhound cross gave her a cursory sniff and then ignored her. Jess, our older collie cross did much the same, and Katie, our white German shepherd, wanted to play with her.

Lindy fitted in perfectly. On the surface she was submissive. She didn't encroach on the other dogs' territories at all, she didn't try and steal their food or take over their living areas, but I soon realised that she was extremely smart. She quickly worked out that the most comfortable place to sleep was the sofa and being on it as much as possible became her mission.

Abel and Jess had never been ‘big' sofa dogs although Katie liked to sneak up there and as German shepherds take up quite a lot of room this didn't leave a lot of space for Lindy. However, she soon worked out a way to get Katie to move. She would stroll into the room, go into the middle of the floor or somewhere in clear sight of Katie and begin to paw at the carpet. Katie would jump off and go and see what was so interesting and Lindy would leap into the vacated spot.

After a while Katie worked out she was being conned and would refuse to move so Lindy devised several variations of her technique. Sometimes she would instigate play – Katie could rarely resist this. Sometimes she would lie on her back and wriggle madly from side to side like a little brown pig – we came to call this her wriggle-piggle manoeuvre – Katie could never resist this either. Or sometimes she would bark and race to the front door, whereupon Katie would follow her. By the time Katie discovered there was no one there it was too late, Lindy was already installed on the sofa.

And once she was in her spot she was impossible to move. If you tried to lift her off she would go ‘floppy' suddenly becoming a dead weight in your arms. If you shouted at her she'd move but then she'd sit and stare accusingly at you from the carpet. When she figured that enough time had gone by she'd put up one front paw – if that went unnoticed she'd put up her second front paw – and if that went unnoticed she'd put up one hind paw until before you knew it she was back in situ.

It was easier to let her sleep up there. For a dog who'd lived wild on a beach she was surprisingly fond of her home comforts and she knew how to get what she wanted.

‘I don't know why you're surprised,' Tony said, when I joked that Lindy knew exactly how to manipulate her canine companions. ‘She manipulated you into bringing her back from Rhodes, didn't she? Getting a dog off the sofa must be child's play.'

For a while, we didn't let her off the lead when we took her for walks, I was scared she might run off and not know where she was, but I had to risk it sooner or later.

It was a Saturday morning in June and Adam and I and the three other dogs were out over the fields at Throop – we were near a river. It was very peaceful with just the lapping of water against the bank and the occasional squawk of a mallard for company. There was no one in sight as far as I could see, just a few cows a couple of fields along from us, but they were far enough away not to be a problem.

‘She's so laid back I doubt she'll go far,' I said confidently as I bent to unclip her lead.

To my surprise and alarm the second she was free Lindy hurtled into the distance like a small brown cannonball. I had never seen her move so fast. At home she either slept or sauntered about, but now she was obviously on a mission.

Fear sent my heart into triple time. ‘What if she never comes back?' I gasped to Adam. ‘We might never see her again.'

He looked worried too. By now Lindy was a fast-moving dot in the distance. Abel had gone with her – that was something – at least I knew he'd come back when I called him – eventually!

It took me about three seconds to realise that the dogs were heading for the field of cows. Adam must have realised the same thing. We looked at each other in horror and we started to run at around the same moment that we heard a volley of frantic barking.

By the time we got to the field all we could see was a herd of stampeding cows. A black and white river of them poured across the grass – the thunder of cloven hooves was horrendous. I shielded my eyes against the June sun. About six feet in front of the herd – and travelling very fast – was a small brown speck of a dog.

It was Lindy – goodness knows where Abel had got to – but Lindy was in danger of being flattened by the stampede, which she had presumably instigated.

I yelled her name, but I doubt she heard. Adam and I clambered over the gate, but by now the cows were halfway across the next field. I prayed that they'd stop when they got to the barbed wire fence and not charge straight through it. I prayed that Lindy would escape unharmed. There was still no sign of Abel, and then I saw him trotting sheepishly back around the edge of the field, his pink tongue lolling and his long white legs spattered with mud – or possibly cow pats! He wagged his tail when he saw us. It was obvious he'd been having the time of his life.

I clipped on his lead and we went cautiously across the field, still calling Lindy's name.

‘She's probably scared out of her wits,' Adam said. ‘I bet she's never seen cows before.'

‘She might not stop running and she won't know where she is.' My stomach crunched with worry. ‘What if she gets on to a road? It's not like she'll have any road sense.' Although actually, with her background, she probably had more road sense than all our other dogs put together.

We reached the next stile and were mid-climb when I realised that Lindy was sitting waiting for us on the other side. With a cry of relief I called her name and she wagged her tail. She was hardly panting, which surprised me considering she'd been running for her life a few minutes earlier. But she obviously wasn't planning any further expeditions for the time being. She was quite happy to have her lead back on.

‘What's all the fuss about?' her expression seemed to say:
I'm not scared of a few cows!

Although I did notice that she gave cows a wide berth after that. Horses were fair game though. She'd bark at a horse if she saw one. I suspected that's what had happened with the cows. She'd also chase rabbits, squirrels and anything else that moved.

‘Well, they said she was a hunting dog,' Tony murmured when he heard about her adventures. ‘I guess she's just following her instincts.'

I took her to training classes after that. I'd taken all my dogs to the same classes – so it wasn't as though I didn't know how to train, but it was fun going to a weekly class. Lindy did exactly what I told her in the sessions. She loved getting treats, from her point of view I was her own personal doggie-treat vending machine. And it was simplicity itself to
sit, wait
and
lie down
on command.

Unfortunately, she wasn't as well behaved outside the class. She would come back when she was called – but only if there wasn't something more interesting going on. She had selective deafness. If she was chasing squirrels or rabbits or birds – she would ignore the recall command completely until she'd had enough.

Fortunately, for all her chasing tendencies she rarely caught anything. But I really shouldn't have been so surprised when she got into trouble with the mallards!

Of course she can swim – she's a dog!

W
E WERE AT A
different river, one that was quite close to our house when Lindy discovered ducks, and what fun it was to chase them. This time Katie was her partner in crime. Our other dogs knew perfectly well that ducks could fly and hence weren't worth chasing. But Katie was still young enough not to let this inconvenient fact bother her.

And so it seemed was Lindy. She'd actually once caught a pigeon when we were out walking. He'd been a little slow to take off and Lindy had sprung into the air and grabbed him in mid-flight. Fortunately, she hadn't hurt him, but it did make me realise what a good hunter she was.

I'd never had much to do with hunting dogs, but once when we were out for a pub lunch someone had come over to pet the dogs and had remarked that Lindy looked like a German shorthaired pointer. When I got home I looked up the breed on the internet and found he was right.

She had the same stocky build, the same chocolate-coloured coat and the same long floppy ears. No wonder the hunting instinct was in her blood. She'd probably also had to catch a good deal of her own food in Rhodes. Although holidaymakers had been feeding her on the beach she'd obviously had several litters of pups before we found her – and she'd managed to survive for the first five years of her life.

Anyway, on this particular morning Adam and I were out with the dogs. The river was quite low and there were a few mallards and moorhens about. While Abel pootled around on the bank, he didn't like getting his paws wet, Jess, Katie and Lindy went in for a drink.

And then Lindy saw the mallards. Instantly, she was after them, splashing through the shallow water and barking madly. Katie joined in and after a cursory, and ineffective, command to ‘Pack That In', I left them to it. They couldn't actually catch any birds because the mallards were sensible enough to stay out of range. The water was shallow at this point in the river so there was no danger to the dogs. Katie got bored quite quickly, as I'd suspected she would, and was happy to come back to dry land.

Lindy, however, was a different matter. She was having a whale of a time. She charged up and down barking with excitement and completely deaf to my calls. The mallards seemed to be teasing her, taking off when she got close and landing a few feet ahead of her on the water, but still out of catching range.

This must have been frustrating. And then to my amazement, because Lindy had never been over-keen on water, she started to swim after one of them. She still had no hope of catching it, but now I was worried. The mallard with its blue and green head and yellow beak swam serenely along and Lindy's brown head bobbed determinedly after it.

She was out of her depth and although the river was shallow at this point it was much deeper a little further along.

I shouted at her to come back, but she was way too engrossed in the chase. Adam and I, complete with the rest of the dogs, ran along the river bank. As it bent round to the right we could see the current grew stronger.

‘She'll be all right,' Adam said reassuringly. ‘Dogs are good swimmers.' Which was just as well, because Lindy was now way out in the middle of the river, paddling after the mallard for all she was worth. I wasn't sure she'd be able to get back to the bank even if she wanted to, which she evidently didn't.

‘I'll have to go after her,' I said to Adam, not relishing the idea one bit. It probably wasn't deep enough to get out of my depth, but it was very cold, not to mention muddy and slippery. I'd had dealings with this river before. I'd once had to pull Katie out of it when she'd got stuck in some reeds, a bit further along.

‘I don't suppose you fancy doing it?' I added hopefully.

‘She's your dog.' Adam grinned at me. ‘You're the one who brought her back from Greece.'

‘I should have left her there,' I muttered as I stripped off my nice warm coat. I wanted something dry for later. I left Adam holding the dogs and ran a bit further along the river. Lindy was still happily swimming, although the mallard must have been nearly out of sight.

The river bent round to the right and I decided my best bet was to head her off downstream. With one last rueful look at my trainers, which would be ruined after this little expedition, I waded in. I hoped Lindy might abandon the chase and just come to me when she saw me in the water.

No such luck. She didn't even turn her head. The water was very cold. I felt its chill rising up around my knees and the bottom was a slippery gooey mass of mud. This was going to be such fun.

‘Lindy,' I yelled again, aware of a couple of fishermen a few hundred yards upstream staring at me in amazement. ‘Get back here, now!'

‘It was possible to drown in a few feet of water,' I mused, as I slipped and slid after my errant hound, although it was highly unlikely.

‘Lindy,' I shouted, the cold making my voice crosser than I'd intended – not that I wasn't cross, but I knew from experience that shrieking furiously at a dog does not entice it to come back to you.

I was in just over my knees before she turned towards me. I was too far away to see her expression, but I suspected she was probably surprised. Or perhaps she thought I'd come to help with the chase. Whatever she thought she'd evidently had enough of swimming – or the mallard had got too far out of sight and she'd lost interest – because she finally started to head in my direction.

‘Good girl,' I called encouragingly. The current was strong. I could feel it pulling at my legs.

Although she was now heading for me she was getting swept away to the right, bit by bit. If I wasn't careful she would be swept right past me, and beyond the point where I was standing the river widened out and looked deep. I quickened my pace, almost fell over, and carried on shouting encouragement. Fortunately the lie of the land was on our side and although Lindy didn't make it to me she'd fetched up against a jutting-out bit of bank where an old tree overhung the water a couple of hundred feet on my right.

I splashed over to help her out. She was tired. It was an effort to struggle up the slippery bank and she staggered a bit as she hit dry land and immediately started to shiver. She's never been over-struck on the cold.

‘That serves you right,' I scolded, as she gave me a wistful little wag and shook a shower of river droplets from her coat. ‘Repeat after me, Mallards can swim faster than dogs.'

She wagged her tail again and then threw up on the grass, mostly water that she'd swallowed in her haste.

Adam arrived with the other dogs. ‘Is she OK? I bet it's freezing in there.' I could see he was having difficulty keeping a straight face as I squelched around on the grass. In the end he gave up and we both ended up laughing – me slightly hysterically.

‘Dad is going to laugh his socks off when I tell him about this,' he added gleefully.

He was right. Later, in the comfort of our lounge, with Lindy curled up in her spot on the sofa, paws twitching as she dreamed – probably about mallards – we regaled Tony with the story of our river rescue.

He laughed uproariously, especially when we hammed it up and said that Lindy was close to drowning, and I was a superhero dog rescuer instead of a reluctant wader-in-up-to-her-knees.

‘She hasn't told you the best bit yet, Dad,' Adam said, slanting a wicked glance in my direction. ‘She wanted ME to go in and risk hypothermia, not to mention drowning, in order to rescue HER dog. How irresponsible is that?'

‘They don't call us wicked stepmothers for nothing,' I said, throwing a cushion at him. ‘Anyway it wasn't deep.'

‘Cold though, I bet.' He threw the cushion back at me harder, and then doubled over with another fit of giggles.

‘Seriously though,' I said. ‘If she'd gone any further she might not have been so lucky. I wouldn't have fancied her chances if she'd got to the weir. I'll have to keep a closer eye on her.'

‘You're going to need binoculars then,' Adam pointed out, which was true. Lindy wasn't the sort of dog that stayed close by on a walk.

Tony stroked her head thoughtfully. ‘So you've used up another of your nine lives, have you, Lindy Lou. You want to be careful. It's only cats who have nine lives, you know!'