We are walking ‘The Big Circle’.
This walk is a weekend favourite of mine, taking me on the small country lanes leading from my house, up around the top edge of the village, along an access road open to walkers but private for vehicles, through fields, up the hill on ancient country lanes barely wide enough for a single car, then around through woods, back down the hill through fields and dropping onto my own road about five minutes away from my house. About three miles all round, it is a lovely way to stretch the legs.
Although I prefer, for the most part, to walk in countryside, The Big Circle is a pleasant amble that enables two, three and four legged family members to meet up with friends and neighbours and, in my case, chit-chat and gossip, while the Gang can catch up with canine news and sniffs. It is a grand way to spend a Sunday morning.
All of the Gang of Four are adopted rescue dogs, and in Duncan’s case particularly, I am conscious of the danger of traffic. He has already lost one leg to a car accident. He cannot afford to lose many more. I suspect that he does not remember the accident in which he lost his leg, being only about eight months old at the time. His life has changed completely since then. He came to join The Gang only three days after his accident and consequent amputation.
My little house fronts onto the road, and some cars speed by at an unseemly pace for such a small road.
As each of the Gang arrived, they were first kept on-lead while we walked the roads and lanes, but once they knew and understood ‘The Rules’, were permitted to walk off-lead. ‘The Rules’ are, that if a car comes down the road, everyone moves onto the verge until it passes by. Once the car is safely past, I wave an arm and everyone is free to go.
This has worked perfectly for four years, makes walking much pleasanter for everyone and means that the dogs get much more exercise. Left to trot along at their own pace, they cover at least twice the ground that I do.
Duncan in particular, found walking on lead difficult. His missing front leg leads to an up and down motion of his head and shoulders, that makes any lead flap and smack against him unpleasantly. And his unusual gait leads to repetitive strain injury in my wrist.
In addition, Duncan refuses to wear a collar. In the time I have had him, he has destroyed, lost or eaten a dozen collars, starting with cheap fabric ones, moving through expensive leather ones and culminating in leather and chain designs. His last two collars, leather and chain, vanished and all I ever found were the links of chain. I have tried slack collars, tight collars, slip fitting collars, all to no avail. It is a mystery to me how he removes them, but remove them he does. I have tried him with a straight chain collar, but to keep it on him, I have to make it so tight that it rubs his skin raw, so that is not an option either. Even the harness I bought him was destroyed within a day.
None of these problems have occurred with any of the other three dogs. Seamus, Shannon and Minnie all wear their collars perfectly well and the only maintenance they need is an occasional cleaning. Heads held high, they parade their collars with attached ID tags and jangly ornaments. These last I added so that the dogs tinkle as they walk. In the dark moonless nights of unlit country lanes, I can tell from the rhythm of the jingling who is walking with me.
But, Duncan does not and will not wear a collar. I always walk with a slip lead in my pocket ‘just in case’, but it has never been needed. The Gang of Four are well known in the area and, when all is said and done, a three legged dog does not need too much identification.
We have completed most of the walk of The Big Circle and are on the final stretch of lane, approaching home. There is a tight double bend and from around the corner to the right, there is the sound of a vehicle approaching. I call the Gang into the verge and they gather around me while I bend down and hold them loosely in a group. The rumble of the vehicle grows louder and as it reaches the corner, a voice shouts out from across the road to my left. “Hi there. I thought I might meet you.”
Looking left, it is ‘Ben’, with his ‘Dad’ Sam. Ben and Duncan are besties and as Duncan sees his pal, to my horror, he breaks loose from my arms and runs into the road to see his friend.
On a previous occasion in my life, time went into slow motion. I was eighteen years old and had gone sailing for the first time. We were being taught how to tack. As the sail swung round, I did not duck fast enough and the boom caught me fair on, lifting me off my feet and to one side, and capsizing the boat. The boat overturning, time slowed to a crawl as I watched the chilly November water swallow the boat, my companions and me. I was pulled out five minutes later by the rescue craft, flopping onto the deck like a wet fish, too chilled to haul myself out.
Now time slows again. With the split-seconds crawling, Duncan scuttles to the middle of the road to see Ben, and at the same moment, a flatbed truck comes around the corner. The driver has no chance to avoid the little dog. His near front wheel goes squarely over Duncan’s middle; I actually see his chest collapse under the weight and then rebound. The rear wheels roll over his back legs.
The truck screeches to a halt and the driver jumps out. I feel sorry for him; the poor man is distraught but it is absolutely not his fault and I say so. He had been driving at a perfectly sensible speed. It had been just too late for him to stop.
Sam arrives, almost speechless. I get onto the back of the flatbed with the rest of the Gang of Three while Sam and the driver pass Duncan up to me. He is conscious, but whimpering. I ask the driver to get me to my front door so I can get Duncan to a vet as quickly as possible. He drives carefully as there are no sides to the back of his truck, and the Three and I are precariously perched as the truck takes tight corners to reach my little cottage. Duncan lies in my arms, unmoving, his head resting against me as I talk to him, gently, quietly.
It is Sunday and I scrabble to find a number for the emergency weekend vet. Ringing ahead, I find a cardboard box large enough to fit Duncan easily so that I do not have to move him more than necessary. Lining it with a blanket, I lay him inside, then stroke his face, trying to reassure him. “Come on little man. Let’s go and get this sorted out.” His button eyes fix on me and he licks my hand, then he whimpers again. Carrying the box as carefully as I can to the car, I belt it into the passenger seat and set off for the vet’s surgery.
Perhaps I break some of the speed limits...
In the surgery, the vet is startled. I had forgotten to mention that Duncan was three legged, and of course the vet’s first reaction is to look to the missing leg as a result of his current trauma. “So this is his second car accident?” he asks.
I nod, gulping. Having gone through the emergency actions and gotten Duncan to the surgery, the adrenaline is wearing off. I start to shake and the tears are welling.
The vet is tactful and chooses not to notice. “I can’t do too much with him right now. He’s in shock and he needs to come out of it before I start giving him medication. He needs to lie quietly in the warm. Do you want to leave him here or take him with you?”
I am torn. I want Duncan to be near me. He trusts me and will feel safer. But here in the surgery, there is everything needed if there is an emergency. “Will someone be with him if I leave him here?”
“Yes, I’m here all night.”
“So he won’t be left alone?”
“No. I’ll be here.”
I agree to call in the morning.
At eight the following morning, I ring to check on Duncan’s progress
“Yes, he’s fine. He’s come out of the shock and we’ve examined him. Nothing’s showing on the x-rays as broken. He seems to be eating, drinking and pooping properly, so it looks like there’s nothing internal either.”
I cannot quite believe what I am hearing. “He’s okay? He’s not injured?”
“Oh he’s badly bruised and he’s hurting, but it’s nothing that won’t mend. Come into the surgery. We’ll give you some painkillers for him, but mainly he needs rest and recuperation.”
Back home with the very subdued Duncan, I settle him into a large basket by the radiator and conclude that my little tripod is constructed from something tougher than mortal flesh. I saw a series of four wheels go right over him and actually watched his rib cage cave in under the weight. To come out of it with nothing more than bruises seems incredible.
Seamus and Minnie seem puzzled by the extra cosseting that the Gang’s most junior member receives over the next few days, but Shannon, always the most intelligent of the Gang, sits by him, exuding calm and comfort.
For the next three weeks, Duncan builds up his strength again. At first I confine him to the back garden, then, after a few days I drive the Gang to short walks in the woods, and then for longer walks over the fields. Always I choose routes where a short-cut back to the car is available. After a month I conclude that Duncan is recovered enough for a full walk and we step out to do ‘The Little Circle’, a shortened version of the original route where the accident happened.
This time, Duncan is on collar and lead and interestingly, he makes no objection to the collar. Perhaps the physical link to me with the lead helps him feel safe. I watch him carefully, eagle-eyed for any problems, but all goes well. We walk very much more slowly than we normally would, but Duncan seems to be enjoying himself with the rest of the Gang….
…. until we reach The Corner.
Duncan may or may not remember his first car accident, but he certainly remembers the second. As we arrive at the corner, he starts to cry and tug at the lead, trying to pull away. Nothing will persuade him to walk around the bend.
In the end, I pick Duncan up and carry him around the corner while he buries his face in my chest, shaking. I wait until we are well past The Corner before I put him down again and we continue home.
Duncan recovers completely, but never again does he object to a collar and always he remains wary of traffic.