Lucy

by Chris Coppel

  They walked out the front gate and Lucy held her breath in anticipation, hoping that her Man would choose the Taddlesham path. This was by far her most favourite walk. Her Man hesitated. Lucy knew that it wasn’t her place to suggest or even hint, but what a glorious day for a good, hearty walk towards Taddlesham. She let out the briefest of whines and took a single step to the right hoping that he would pick up the extreme subtlety of her move. His face brightened into a warm smile as he looked down at her.

  “I suppose you’d like the Taddlesham walk, wouldn’t you?”

  Lucy pretended to not understand him and cocked her head to one side.

  “You can’t fool me with that look,” he said in mock seriousness. “Come on then.”

  Yes! He turned to the right, and they walked alongside the ancient roman wall until they reached a break and the tiny white sign that though illegible to Lucy, she knew stated that they were at the beginning of the West Taddlesham path.

  As always, she remained at her Man’s side until they were off the road and on one of the many trails and paths that webbed out from their cottage. They had taken no more than a few steps when he gave the joyous command.

  “Go on then,” he said in a breathy and exuberant voice.

  That was all Lucy needed to hear. With her ears pinned back and her golden tail outstretched, she broke into a full-speed charge down the narrow, grassy path.

  On either side of her, the farm animals turned, and with mild interest, watched her tear by. The herd of Jerseys even moved to the fence to get a better look, but then, the mere fact that the sun rose everyday was an astonishment to cows. They were kind, and sweet but not terribly bright. Lucy would always give them the single bark as she passed, just to ensure that they didn’t miss the moment.

  As she rounded the corner down by Blakely’s farm, she slowed down. This was her favourite part, and she had learned to savour the anticipation of what was to come. She stopped altogether and waited for her Man to reach her side, then, together, they continued on their way. They passed the Blakely’s farm and followed the path as it again turned. They were suddenly surrounded by greenery. The path descended gently beneath a canopy of foliage. The ancient trees which bordered the path chose this location to have, long ago, grown together overhead giving the impression that one was walking inside a long, green tunnel. Lucy loved this part of the walk. It was quiet and surprisingly dark. The ground was softer and smelled of damp. The sides of the trees and stones were all heavily coated with a bright, almost fluorescent layer of moss. After a short while, she came to a very narrow pathway that broke off to the right. She followed this into a dense, but startlingly beautiful patch of greenery and within moments came to her favourite place in the whole world—Burden Dell.

  It was little more than a small, grassy clearing within the trees and bramble. The grass was almost ten paws high, densely-packed, and of a colour that words could hardly convey. An emerald green with highlights of pure gold was close, but still not quite it.

  Lucy was about to move into the dell but saw to her astonishment that it was already occupied. A single doe stood only a few feet away, looking back at her as she calmly chewed a mouthful of the succulent grass.

  Her Man came up alongside her and whispered, “easy girl,” which was unnecessary, as Lucy fully understood what was required of her when faced with an inter-species relationship.

  She carefully and calmly walked over to the doe, and with slow and cautious moves, stepped to within inches of her. She was a beautiful animal. Her moist, brown eyes were huge and framed with the longest lashes that Lucy ever remembered seeing. Her tan coat looked smooth and soft, touched in a few places by almost perfect white, circular spots. The doe stopped her chewing and looked down at Lucy without any fear. Lucy took a step closer and raised her head. With great tenderness, their noses touched for just the briefest of moments. The doe then playfully stepped back and taunted Lucy into a game of tag. Lucy looked over at her Man to make sure this was acceptable and saw that he was smiling while wiping something from his eyes. Lucy took this for approval, and so proceeded to play a truly fabulous game of tag with her new friend. Lucy didn’t have too much experience with the deer family and was pleasantly surprised at this one’s skill and agility at the game. The doe appeared to be able to balance perfectly, both the subtlety of the stalk with the tenacity of the chase. Her final cornering leaps were truly spectacular. They played on for some time then, without warning, and with only the briefest nod, the doe turned and ran off. Lucy was surprised until she heard an incessant stream of barks coming towards the dell. Not even the slightest attempt at proper usage was being made. Just a random flow of attention-seeking yips. There was little doubt to whom it belonged.

  Jimmy, the Scottie, came charging out of the tree line and into the tall grass. He leapt, he danced, he rolled, he barked. He had, it seemed, no self-control whatsoever. True he wasn’t a pure bred, but still—decorum, decorum!

  The little dog was truly on form. He wouldn’t stay still for a second. Lucy tried to calm him down long enough to set up some ground rules for a game of tag, but the other dog just couldn’t concentrate. Lucy politely attempted to play with him for a while, but soon tired of her small friend’s frantic and uncoordinated motions. She moved over to her Man and remained on her feet looking back toward the path. Her Man understood her meaning, and the two left Jimmy to his antics within the sanctity of Burden Dell.

  As they regained the path, they spotted Jimmy’s Man trotting along with a look of deep concern on his face. “Have you seen . . . ?”

  Lucy’s Man didn’t wait for him to finish. “He’s in the dell.”

  The other man shook his head and strode off to locate Jimmy. Lucy and her Man shared a smile, then sedately resumed their dignified progress back to the cottage.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucy had a truly magnificent night’s sleep, replete with happy dreams. There were no rocky paths or drops into swirling fogs, only joyful frolicking in fields of golden, spring wheat. She encountered many animals in her dreams, all of them full of joyful effervescence as they played. The night’s dreaming even included the pretty young doe she had encountered earlier in Burden Dell.

  Lucy’s sense of smell was her own inner alarm clock, and on that morning, it rang extra loudly. Before she even opened her eyes, she knew that Cook was baking fresh bread. The smell had all but taken over the house. As it happened, freshly-baked wheat loaf was the one treat that Lucy truly adored, although it was also probably the most frustrating. The oven door would open; the yeasty explosion of odoriferous euphoria would then consume her as she watched the perfectly-formed, brown loaves be set on the counter. Then with every gastronomic juice on full rampage—she had to wait! Not a second or a minute, but a full hour! It was a true test of willpower to not pounce on, and bite into one of the steaming golden-brown mounds. Well not really a test, as Lucy had in fact learnt from the experience when she had on one occasion not waited until she was given a piece by Cook. She’d instead bitten off a piece of a loaf without permission and learnt about hot food. It wasn’t just that it was hot, it was that once in her mouth she couldn’t get the burning morsel out again. Lucy couldn’t chew it, she couldn’t swallow it, and worst of all she couldn’t settle it in one spot long enough to spit it out. She had learnt that day to wait when it came to oven-fresh bread.

  Lucy rose from her warm rug that was tucked under the stairs and strolled down the hallway to the kitchen. She stuck her head around the door so that Cook would know that she was awake and available, should any piece of cooled wheat bread be in the offering. Cook looked over at her and smiled in that way that always gave Lucy a warm, almost tingling feeling inside. When Cook smiled it was as if her entire face lit up. Every wrinkle, and there were quite a few, all appeared to tilt upwards giving her feature a joyously happy lilt.

  “You’ll be wanting a piece of new bread, I should wager,” Cook
said in her Welsh, sing-song manner. “Well, you’ll have t’wait, you know that.”

  Lucy, of course did know and showed her understanding by not lingering too long in the doorway. She turned and moved through the cottage to the mudroom and stepped out through, what Lucy always assumed, was her personal door. A strange square thing in the middle of the wood door, it was. An odd contraption made from some material that still had Lucy puzzled. It was clearly not made from anything she had ever encountered during her walks. It smelled a little like a mix between the black goop she’d seen being laid on the road to fill cracks, and the smelly liquid that her Man poured into the side of his driving machine.

  Now there was another bizarre thing. Why anyone would want to sit in a metal enclosure that did nothing but make a din and belch smelly smoke from its rear was beyond Lucy. She had been in her Man’s vehicle only a few times and was perfectly content to leave it at that. Oh, she’d seen other less intelligent breeds deliriously hanging their heads out the side windows, allowing the force of the wind to distort their features and whip their coats into a most undignified mess. Nope. Not for Lucy. She was entirely happy to find her thrills with all four feet solidly planted on terra firma.

  Then there was the rather odd relationship that her Man had with his vehicle. After all, it wasn’t as if the blessed thing was alive. Far from it! Yet her Man would pamper the thing endlessly. He would bathe it, dry it, caress it, find it shade in the summer and shelter it in the rains. Lucy had repeatedly attempted to point out her human’s error in believing that his vehicle required such treatment, but he seemed quite oblivious to her attempts at enlightening him.

  Lucy eased herself through her door contraption and glanced over at her outside bowls. She thought for the briefest second that they were empty! A cold, damp shiver ran through her body. She dashed over to them, and immediately saw that she had, of course, been mistaken. Her food bowl was filled with the usual mix of both dry and moist food - a tasty combination by any account, and her water bowl had clearly just been cleaned and refilled. As Lucy marvelled at the sparkling properties of the refreshingly cool liquid, a tiny moth landed right in it. Typical! It sent out a pattern of concentric waves to the very edge of the bowl. Lucy was fascinated by the uniformity of the water’s distortion at the hands, or indeed wings, of the struggling creature. Lucy realised that she had to help before the poor thing wore itself out. With slow and gentle skill, Lucy placed her nose into the bowl, and brought it to within a hair’s-breadth of the baby moth. It seemed to know what was needed to save itself and managed to climb onto the lumpy surface of the offered muzzle. Lucy carefully raised her head, and with concentration, focused her eyes down her nose and saw the tiny survivor clinging on for dear life. She moved over to the nearest bush and placed her nose among its leaves. It took a while for the small aviator to dismount as it was totally preoccupied with drying itself off. Lucy was, however, in no rush and allowed her passenger the necessary time to pull itself together. Finally, satisfied that it was in one piece, the little crash survivor stepped onto a nearby leaf and opened its wings to assist in the drying operation. Lucy backed away and thought how she must return later to check on its progress.

  Feeling suddenly quite hungry and pleased with a job well done, Lucy returned to her bowls. As she reached her food, and sank her muzzle into the well-deserved breakfast, something caught her eye. She turned to her water bowl and was stunned. It couldn’t be! There were now four tiny moths, all desperately paddling for dear life. The water in the bowl was quite choppy as the moths struggled away. Lucy realised that she was going to have a remarkably busy morning.

  By midday, Lucy was exhausted. She had rescued the five moths and had a marvellous game of chase with a small rabbit, who’d run from her with such convincing enthusiasm and drama, that it was almost as if he believed the pursuit to have been of a serious nature. She had helped Cook pick some fresh tomatoes from the vegetable garden (Lucy stayed outside the perimeter, of course) and had been rewarded with a piece of indescribably delicious wheat bread (cooled to perfection). Most recently she had enjoyed an exceptionally good roll on the front lawn. All this and it wasn’t even time for her Man’s midday break.

  Lucy was in mid-ponder about what to do next when she heard Old Fergus as he pedalled up the gentle hill towards their cottage. Almost every day, Old Fergus would appear and deposit funny paper things through the funny slot in the front door. Sometimes her Man would seem pleased at what was left, other times a cloud would cross over his normally pleasant features. On one occasion, he even tore up the paper bits that Old Fergus had left him. Fergus was a good sort. He would always have a word or two to share with Lucy. He never crossed the line and attempted to touch her, instead, he would simply lean over and chat. At first, she had found this behaviour somewhat off-putting, but eventually Lucy came to accept it. Today was no exception. Fergus lent his bike against the wall, ambled to the cottage door and pushed some paper bits into the slot while smiling at Lucy.

  “So, me fine girl, how’s the world treating you? Are ya being a good girl for Mr. Cotter?”

  This was clearly a two-bark situation which Lucy offered up happily.

  “I thought so! Well, you take care and make sure to tell Miss Windle that I asked after her,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

  “You can tell her yourself,” Cook said as she surprised them both and appeared waddling up the path. Fergus’ hat was off in a second, and his face turned a peculiar beetroot colour that was visible to Lucy even under his substantial beard.

  “Oh, it is you yourself, is it?” he stammered, while staring down at his feet.

  “And who else would you be expecting then?” She looked directly at him and waited until his head rose and he returned her stare.

  “None other than you Beth, none other than you!”

  “I should hope not,” she replied with a touch of shyness following the directness of his response. “Well off with you now Bert. I’ve got a house to run here. Maybe I’ll see you down at the market tomorrow.”

  Fergus replaced his cap and gave her a warm smile that even had an effect on Lucy. She emitted a loud sigh before she could help it or even knew it was coming.

  Cook and Fergus both looked down and grinned at Lucy’s gesture. Lucy was so embarrassed that she wasn’t sure where to look. She ultimately chose to drop to her belly and place her head on her outstretched paws.

  Fergus gave Cook a brief wave, then remounted his bike and headed back down the hill. Lucy wondered what the sensation was that she’d picked up between the two people, then promptly dozed off.

  She didn’t nap for long before she was awakened by some very strange sounds coming from the cottage. She eased herself to her feet and allowed her front legs to walk forward while keeping her back ones firmly planted. She had found this to be by far the most expeditious method of getting a really good post-nap stretch. Feeling her muscles loosen, she made her way toward the odd noises that were still emanating from her home.

  Suddenly her Man and Cook came dancing out the front door. Dancing! They were at arm’s length to each other, spinning around on the front lawn, while her Man laughed almost to the point of crying, such was his state. Cook was trying to act as exuberant as him but was clearly focusing her full concentration on staying upright as he swung her around.

  Assuming it was expected of all parties, Lucy stepped between the pair and began to bark joyously (this was one of the few times that random barking was permitted).

  Suddenly her Man let go of Cook with near disastrous consequences then ran back into the house. Cook and Lucy stopped what they were doing and gathered their composure as they watched the front door, waiting for him to reappear.

  They heard a loud pop and glanced at each other with curious expressions until her Man came charging out of the cottage with a bottle in one hand and three glasses in the other. White foam was pouring out of the dark green bottle a
nd was leaving a trail behind him.

  Her Man poured a glass of the bubbling liquid for Cook, who looked aghast at the golden beverage.

  “Oh Mr. Cotter, I don’t think I should!” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

  He held out the glass to her and grinned boyishly.

  “Beth,” he said.” this is probably the happiest moment of my life, and if that isn’t cause for celebration, I don’t know what is!”

  “In that case,” Cook responded. “I’ll try just a wee sip.” She took the glass from him and downed it in one.

  He looked at her in sheer amazement. “I was thinking we should toast,” he said.

  “That one was for thirst,” she purred. “This one’ll be the one for toasting.” She held her glass out to him.

  Though surprised, he refilled her glass then looked to Lucy. “This concerns you too.”

  He poured another glass, this one half the size and much lower to the ground and placed it in front of Lucy. She approached the glass cautiously, circling it once to make sure it was safe.

  He finally poured his own glass, then held it high in the air.

  “To you, Beth Windle, and to you, Lucy Cotter, I offer a toast,” he orated grandly. “Without you this could never have happened. I would like to offer you both my deepest gratitude for all that you’ve done.”

  As he was about to drink from his glass, Cook cleared her throat loudly.

  “Yes?” He queried.