Each week we are serialising Vic Barlow's new book From Rags to Bitches on wilmslow.co.uk . Here is the second chapter. If you missed previous chapters these can be viewed by clicking on the 'From Rags to Bitches' tag below.
Chapter 2: Dogged Determination
As I walked Rex the two miles to my granddad's house I pondered on how this rotund, ambling dog acquired the skill to track down game across field, and stream in a blizzard.
"Should we really be taking Rex with us?" I asked as Granddad filled the flask of coffee we were taking on our expedition. The snow's getting really thick."
"And that's why wi need Rex."
"How's he going to find anything in this weather?"
"See this ere," said Granddad pointing at Rex's nose as he slumbered in front of the open fire. "That's his secret weapon."
"Like Samson's hair?" I asked innocently.
"Better than that, Lad. This dog is able to smell game (I hadn't quite worked out what 'game' we were pursuing but as Rex had never wandered beyond Jackson's chip shop I assumed antelope and bison were not of his acquaintance).
"This 'ere dog has a nose 100 times more developed than yours. His sense of smell is so powerful he can convert scent into taste."
"You mean like turning the smell of chocolate into a Mars Bar?"
"Exactly."
I was truly impressed.
"Oh, hello love," said my Nan. "I didn't see you come in. Are you here for the day?" (Nan always hoped I was 'here for the day'.)
"Him and me's going shooting," said Granddad sheathing the 410 in his gunslip.
"There'll be no bees in this weather."
"Not bees, you can't shoot bloody bees," yelled Granddad eternally frustrated at Nan's refusal to wear her bulky hearing aid.
"We're going hunting, Nan," I explained holding my lips close to her ear.
"Well you must keep warm. Have you got a hot drink?"
"Yes, Nan, my Granddad made us some proper coffee on the hob."
"Now, Arthur, don't be getting our Victor in any trouble with that gun only Mrs Ollerenshaw says someone's been shooting arrows at her back door."
Granddad raised his eyebrows in a 'whatever next' gesture and pushed the coffee flask deep inside his jacket pocket.
"What's that smell?" asked Gran wafting a hand in front of her face.
"Ah, that'll be Rex..."
"Whose wrecked?"
"It's Mrs Homes' dog, Nan, I've borrowed him for the day."
"Come on, Lad, time we were gone," said Granddad yanking both Rex and me out of the door before Nan could interrogate us further.
"Don't you let that poor dog go wandering off and come back lost," called Nan. (My early life was littered with such baffling language.)
'Where are we going, Granddad?" I asked as we ploughed our way through the snow.
"Wi going to Old Nik's wood. Them pigeons'll be flocking in for shelter and we've a good chance of bagging a nice hare on the way if Rex picks up any scent."
By mid-morning the snow clouds had jettisoned their cargo leaving a watery sun to bathe the landscape.
"Right, Lad, turn thi dog loose."
"Do you think that's a good plan, Granddad? Rex has no idea where he is."
"That dog knows a lot more than you think."
"Does he?"
"Course he does. He'll know the lie of the land it's in his instinct. (I couldn't help wondering if Granddad was confusing dog instinct with pigeon instinct.)
What will happen when I take Rex's lead off, Granddad?"
"He'll sample the air before setting his strategy."
My developing vocabulary didn't stretch to words of three syllables but 'strategy' sounded impressive... whatever it meant. I slipped off the old worn rope masquerading as a lead and set Rex free.
Rex immediately shot off in a wild zig-zag pattern.
"What's he doing, Granddad?"
"He's quartering his ground like all experienced gundogs do."
(I may not have grasped 'strategy' but I certainly understood 'experienced' and wondered if Rex had acquired his from a drunken submariner.)
"Shouldn't we walk a bit faster, Granddad to keep up with Rex?"
"Dunna worry, young 'en. You'll see him turn back on himself when he reaches top o' thill."
Far from 'turning back on himself' Rex bowled over the top like a husky in an avalanche.
"Bloody hell, he's on a scent," yelled Granddad unsheathing his shotgun. "Thee grab mi stick and let's get after him."
Granddad's stick was almost as long as I was but it got me to the top of the hill just in time to see Rex disappear into the wooded valley below.
"Can you see him?" Granddad asked gasping for air like a choking miner.
"He ran off into the woods."
"He's definitely scented summat... probably a big hare. Let's get down after him quick."
I didn't know much about hunting but walking ahead of anyone sliding down a snow covered hill waving a shotgun did not seem like a great plan. I gave Granddad a 20-yard start then followed him down.
As we reached the wood Granddad put his finger over his lips urging me to be quiet. Raising his gun slowly to his shoulder he waved me on. Creeping silently through the woods reminded me of a recent film I'd seen about General Custer which, as I recalled, did not have a happy ending.
"Quick, Lad, over here I can see paw prints."
I would have been impressed by Granddad's tracking skills were it not for Rex standing in full view 20-yards ahead munching his way through a cheese sandwich.
"Is this your dog?" asked a young lady hiker.
Granddad did not rush to claim responsibility.
"He's been following us," said the young man accompanying her.
"We stopped for elevenses and gave him a sandwich but he was so hungry he ate them all."
Granddad adopted the sheepish posture kids used at school when caught red-handed with a stink bomb.
"Well, he's not actually our dog," said Granddad.
"But I know where he lives," I added quickly before they offered to adopt him. (Rex not Granddad.)
"Are you the appointed guardians of this animal?" Asked the young man haughtily.
Granddad looked at me, then at Rex, then back to me clearly stalling for time.
"He's a stray we found starving in the street," Granddad replied to my utter amazement.
"Well you have done an excellent job," said the young lady totally won over by Granddad's compassion. "He's as bonnie as a sow."
"I suggest you put him on a lead before he 'strays' again," said the young man somewhat less convinced.
I slipped the rope around Rex's ample neck and led him out of the woods.
"Come on, Lad, get a move on. That posh chap was Lordy's son."
"Who's Lordy, Granddad?"
"Tha dun't want to know unless thas good at doffing thi cap."
(There were times Granddad used language I could only assume he'd learned in Belgium.)
To be continued...
Comments
Here's what readers have had to say so far. Why not add your thoughts below.