It’s midnight on an early December night and I’m standing in the middle of a very dark field. There’s no street lighting. There’s no moon. To add to my delight, it’s raining cats and guide dogs. Happy days!
The former Dave Lucas would never have come here. The very thought of it would have caused him to panic. But this isn’t the old Dave Lucas. This is Dave-plus-Abbot and things are very different now. Abbot has safely guided me to this point.
Lynne, my trainer, who’s been standing discretely behind us all the while, suddenly drops one of her little bombshells. She wants me to let Abbot off the lead for a free run. Now I really
am panicking. In situations of extreme darkness I am very disorientated. I would never have been able to negotiate my way to the middle of this field without Abbot. Now, this fool Lynne wants me to let him go. Is she mad? If he fails to return I’ll be stranded here with no way back. Oh bugger. I really don’t want to let him go.
Have you ever stood at the side of a racecourse and listened to the sound of a dozen highly tuned equine athletes thundering past? Well, that was the sound of Abbot as he thundered off into the darkness. In situations like this, 10 seconds seem like an hour and a minute more like a week. I’m in total panic! As soon as he’s gone I’ve got his whistle to my mouth, ready to recall him. Suddenly, Lynne grabs my wrist and shouts:
“Don’t you dare!”
I don’t. (You wouldn’t either, believe me.) She makes me wait for what seems like months but is probably only around three minutes. Eventually, she lets me call him in and I blow his whistle. Nothing happens. I knew it. He’s run away. I’ve been right all along. Suddenly, though, quietly in the distance I can hear a low rumble. This grows to a thundering roar, just like those racehorses, and gets louder and louder as 40 kilograms of black lab hurtle towards me out of the darkness. Then the noise stops abruptly. Panic takes over once again but, unbeknown to me, Abbot has decided to take a leap at me from about three metres away. I hear a sudden whoosh of wind and then the full 40 kilos hit me smack on the forehead, nose first. I come to. I’m flat on my back in the mud with Abbot licking my face, his tail wagging like a demented helicopter. I hear Lynne behind me, roaring with laughter.
“Well, at least he’s come back.”
I’m lying in the mud, laughing hysterically, with Abbot on top of me. She knew he’d come back. No one likes a smart arse, though, and as the laughter fades I can feel tears streaming down my face. I hope that Lynne can’t see me. I’ve been such a bloody fool. I’ve spent years running away from this moment but now Abbot’s here and I love it. I bloody love it. All those years wasted.
The next night Abbot and I go out on our own. We don’t have Lynne and her great powers to fall back on. We’re totally alone. We make our way to the edge of the field without any problem at all. As on the previous night, there’s no moon and it’s pitch dark. I’m even more scared than I was yesterday. Most frightening of all is the idea that there is no one with us if things get tricky. I know I’m mad to be doing this and if I had any sense I’d go back to the centre straight away. But as you must have learned by now, sense is not my strong point. I stand there for ages, wanting to leave but needing to stay.
Somehow I have to know that what happened yesterday evening wasn’t a fluke. I have to know it didn’t just happen because of Lynne’s great skill and expertise. I have to know that Abbot can be trusted, relied upon. If I’m going to place all my faith in this dog then I need to know that he’s worthy of it and that he won’t let me down.
Tonight it’s just me and Abbot. I’ve never pushed myself this far before. This is the stuff of nightmares and this is my way of attempting to confront them.
I give Abbot the command ‘Forward!’ and we set off for the middle of the field. This is the easy bit. With Abbot by my side I feel totally confident. But what I’m planning to do next fills me with fear.
As we stand in the centre of the field, I slip Abbot’s harness off but hold on tightly to his lead. Then I try to summon up the courage to let him go. In my pocket I finger the keys of my mobile phone and tell myself that if things go wrong I can always call for help. With a final burst of courage I unclip his lead.
In an instant he’s gone. He doesn’t even wait for a pat. Oh bugger. I’m totally alone. It’s too dark to see my watch so I’ve no idea how long he’s gone but it seems like a very long time indeed.
Eventually, I blow Abbot’s whistle and wait. Then I wait... and wait a bit more after that. There is absolutely no sign of him. Then suddenly, like before, I can hear that low rumble as he begins to thunder through the darkness.
A few moments later I feel something heavy pressing down on my feet and I can hear a thump-thump-thump sound. It’sAbbot’s tail pounding on the turf like a jack hammer. I stand in the middle of that field sobbing uncontrollably. I give Abbot a big, big fuss, slip him a treat, replace his harness and we float back to the centre.
I'm loving reading these - thank you so much for posting them
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