The Dog, Ray

by Linda Coggin

  “Come on, Ray, just sit here by my clothes and guard the bag.”

  I look around me. In the distance I can see a figure walking, but it is a long way away. Otherwise it doesn’t seem as if there is anyone on the beach. Pip takes off all his clothes except his underpants and then runs into the surf.

  “Come back!” I shout.

  He dives into the waves and disappears from sight. I get up, anxious that he won’t surface again, but there he is a little farther out, grinning and waving at me. He starts swimming. He is a strong swimmer and soon he is far out.

  “Come back!” I shout again. I leave the bag and run along the shoreline. How can I keep an eye on him if he swims so far out? My paws are wet now. It’s not as cold as I thought it would be, so I run farther in. But Pip is swimming farther and farther away.

  I start to swim after him and shout at him to stop and be careful and watch what he’s doing. The current is strong, and although I am swimming straight at him, I can feel I am being swept farther down along the beach. How am I going to rescue him and bring him back to safety if he keeps swimming away?

  Pip’s bag looks a long way away now. And so does Pip. A big wave sweeps over my head and sucks me down. I’m caught up in it and my body is turning over and over and I’m not sure which way is up. I’m holding my breath, but I can feel it leaving my body, and my lungs ache now. I’ve got my eyes open to see which way is up, but the water is cloudy with lots of grit and sand flying past.

  At last I bob up to the surface. My paws are paddling hard to keep me above the water. I look around me. Pip’s bag is now a speck on the beach, and it looks as if he is standing by it, because I can see a figure bending down.

  Good. I can relax a little. I can stop worrying about both Pip and his bag. But then I hear a shout and there is Pip swimming toward me.

  Another wave gets hold of me and hurls me onto the shore.

  “Ray! You silly dog. You didn’t have to come in after me. I was coming back.”

  “But Pip!” I choke, spitting the seaweed out of my mouth. “Who’s with the bag?”

  Although I know Pip doesn’t understand me, something causes him to look along the beach, and we both see someone making off with Pip’s bag.

  “Oh, no!” He curses and starts to run up the beach. “Everything I own is in that bag. It’s all I have.”

  I struggle to my feet and run after him, but the weight of the water in my fur slows me down. I have to stop and shake it off and I lose valuable seconds. This really is all my fault. If only I had stayed with the bag and not been so eager to keep up with Pip. He was right. I am a silly dog.

  It’s a man who has the bag and he’s walking fast along the beach with it tucked under his arm.

  “Stop! That’s my bag!” yells Pip.

  The man turns for a moment and then quickens his pace. There is still quite a gap between us. I am now running flat out. I’m faster than Pip and determined to get the bag, even though I remember it’s got my leash in it. It has Pip’s watch in it as well, and I want him to always know when his birthday is. I can’t remember mine anymore.

  The man with the bag is running now, but he is not sure on his feet and stumbles on the stones.

  “Come back with that bag!” I yell. “It doesn’t belong to you and it’s got Pip’s whole world in it!”

  But the man gets up and keeps running. He is wearing loose pants and the hems are flapping as he runs. All my muscles are working and I feel as if I am eating up the distance between us. I am close enough now and I get ready to leap. I spring from my back legs and I soar through the air. The force of my jump pulls my mouth back, and with a snap of my teeth I get hold of his pants. My jaws may not be good for bubblegum, but they certainly work when you want to get hold of a pant leg.

  There is a ripping sound and the man falls onto the sand. I see a bare ankle and I fasten my teeth on it. He smells stale, of alcohol and fear.

  The man yells out, “Get that crazy dog off me!” And Pip races up to my side. He grabs the bag off the man before he says to me, “That’s enough, Ray. Leave him.”

  Reluctantly I let go of the man’s ankle. He scrambles up. He has a wild look in his eyes and a tattoo of a snake winding around his neck. I back off. There’s something about the snake I don’t like, and although I know it’s not real, I’m going to keep my distance now in case it suddenly comes alive.

  “I thought it had been left. I thought it didn’t belong to no one.” He has a thin, whiny voice and he backs away from us, looking for somewhere to run.

  “Well it does!” yells Pip. “It belongs to me. Go away and leave us alone or I’ll sic my dog on you again!”

  At this I show him my teeth and I shout at him, “Yes! Clear off and leave us alone!”

  He’s running now, back up the beach, not fast, because he’s limping a bit. I look at Pip and wag my tail.

  “Good Ray!” says Pip. I like it when he praises me, and I put my ears flat back so that he can stroke my head. I feel much braver about the snake now.

  We go back to where Pip’s clothes are, and he takes the picture of his dad out of his pocket and looks at it. I realize that this is the most important thing he has. Apart from me, that is.

  We follow in the footsteps of the man and I have a good sniff at his prints. I still have the image of his snake and half expect to find its track on the sand as well. All that seawater I swallowed must be playing tricks with my mind. It’s not a big town, and I hope we don’t see him again. Even with my newfound braveness, I’m not sure I could fight off more than one person if he happened to have some friends. This is going to give me something else to worry about.

  There’s something fluttering along the sand in front of us. I run to catch it. It’s a folded-up piece of paper. I pick it up to show Pip. Neither Pip nor I can stand people throwing litter on the ground. It brings out the policewoman in me.

  “What’s this, Ray?” he says, taking the paper out of my mouth.

  “Gosh!” he says. ‘It’s a twenty-dollar bill!”

  He dances around me and I join in.

  “Twenty bucks! What a fantastic birthday present, Ray! Good job!”

  My tail is now going around and around like a propeller and I think I might take off. This is better than presenting him with a little mouse.

  “I think that man dropped it when he was running away. I bet he stole it from someone else. Like he took our bag,” I tell him.

  Pip looks around.

  “There’s no one to give it back to. So I think we’ll have to keep it. Happy birthday, Pip!” he shouts.

  “Happy birthday, Pip!” I shout back.

  We run along the beach and back into town.

  “We’ll have to buy something so I can get more change for the telephone,” he says. Then I can see his eyes light up. “And I know just what it’s going to be!”

  I follow him up the side streets. There’s a lovely smell coming from a shop a few doors along.

  “Stay here, Ray,” Pip says as he goes inside.

  I look into the shop. It is full of loaves of bread and pastries, and smells absolutely delicious. In a few minutes Pip comes out carrying a white box tied up with ribbon.

  “Come on! Back to the beach!” he yells to me, and we retrace our footsteps and go and sit under the pier and Pip opens the box and inside is a beautiful chocolate cake.

  When Pip gets through to the voice-mail number a man with a thick foreign accent answers.

  “Hello,” says Pip, speaking slowly and rather loudly in case the man doesn’t understand him. “Does Phillip Seagrove live there?”

  There is a pause on the other end of the line.

  “No. Very sorry. Mr. Seagrove passed away a year now.”

  Pip catches his breath and says, “Oh, no! That can’t be. How can he die when I haven’t found him yet?”

  I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself or the man on the phone, but the voice on the other end continues.

  “Well,” the voi
ce says, “he was very old and had been ill some time.”

  “How old?” asks Pip.

  “I am thinking eighty-something.”

  Pip sighs with relief.

  “Oh, not my Mr. Seagrove, then. Did he have a son, do you think?”

  “Oh, no, no. Mr. Seagrove, he having no family. I had to make all arrangement for him.”

  “I am sorry,” says Pip. “But thank you.”

  He looks pleased until he realizes he is still no closer to finding his father. He tries the disconnected line again and gets the same recorded message.

  “You know what, Ray? We’re going to go around to the address in the phone book, just in case the number has been changed.”

  The address is on Barton Road.

  “Let’s find a map,” says Pip, excited again.

  I’m excited too. I want Pip to find his dad. I’m trying to picture my dad now.

  He has a hat and coat and no face and a car with a license plate number that I cannot possibly remember.

  Barton Road is up a long hill and full of whitewashed houses. When we get to the top we look back over the bay. There are a few fishing boats and someone water-skiing. It’s practically winter and I tell Pip that I think the water-skier must be nuts. He’d be sure to get hypothermia if he fell in.

  Number ten has a little front gate and a well-tended front yard. Pip waits outside for a while.

  “Go on, Pip,” I say. “Go and knock on the door.”

  “I’m feeling nervous, Ray. What if he answers the door? I wish I could have spoken to him on the phone first. What if he doesn’t believe I’m his son?”

  Then Pip pauses a moment and adds, “What if we don’t like each other?”

  I tell him I’m sure they will and search my brain for any clues that I liked my father. But my memory seems blocked and I can’t even remember what he did for a living.

  We’ve been hanging around the gate for some time now. I notice a woman with white hair by the curtains, looking at us.

  “Go on, Pip,” I say.

  “Be quiet, Ray. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

  But too late now. The door opens and the woman appears.

  “Can I help you, dear?” she says. “Are you looking for someone?”

  “Yes,” says Pip. “Does Phillip Seagrove live here?”

  “Ah, no,” the woman replies, and I know Pip’s heart has sunk, just like mine. “But I still have a forwarding address, I think, if you just hang on a moment.”

  She goes back into the house and is gone for some time. Pip shifts his weight from foot to foot. Takes his hands out of his pockets, then puts them in again. Then takes them out. He opens and shuts the gate several times.

  “Sorry about that,” says the woman when she returns with a piece of paper. “It was at the back of one of the drawers. They moved out about a year ago now.” She hands Pip the paper.

  “They?” he says.

  “Yes. A really nice family. They have a little boy.”

  I notice Pip stiffen.

  “Any dogs?” I ask.

  The woman strokes me. “Are you being ignored? I had a dog like you once, with those colored eyes. A collie called Jessie.”

  “Was she a spirit dog?” I ask. But the lady is on her way back inside.

  “Where is this?” Pip calls out.

  “It’s just along the coast, dear. Not too far! Good luck!”

  Pip turns the paper over in his hands.

  “Well, Ray. Looks as if we might find him after all.” But I can tell he’s not as happy as I thought he’d be.

  We walk off down the road and I wonder if Pip knows where we are going.

  Pip’s still got change from the twenty and suggests we go into a café and have something to eat. We pass one now. There is a tantalizing smell of beef cooking on a big stove and a lasagna that has just been taken out of the oven.

  “Lasagna!” I say. “My favorite, after . . . well.” That busy insect is back again, daring me to remember my other favorite dishes. I give up and sniff at a lamppost.

  “Come on, Ray, let’s have something to eat.”

  “You can’t bring that dog in here,” says the man cutting up the lasagna.

  “OK,” Pip says, sounding disappointed. “We’ll go, then.”

  I want to say to him that it doesn’t matter. I’m quite happy to sit outside the café. I want him to have something to eat because I worry he’s not getting enough vitamins. I’m beginning to sound like my mom. But Mom’s face doesn’t come to mind as it used to, and all I get is a glimpse of an apron with I’M THE BOSS written on it.

  I suddenly feel weary and don’t see the point of telling Pip all this if he can’t understand what I’m saying.

  “We do takeout!” the man says as we start to leave the café.

  We are sitting on some rocks under the pier, sharing the lasagna.

  “You know, Ray,” Pip tells me, in between mouthfuls, “I’ve been thinking of Dad for all this time, since Mom died, and I don’t know what I imagined, but I hadn’t thought of him with another family. I thought he’d be on his own, like me, and that he’d be happy to have the company. Now I’m afraid he won’t want us because he’ll be too busy with his other family. And what if his wife doesn’t like me? She’ll probably be mad he got another woman pregnant before her.”

  I rest my head in his lap and look up at him.

  “It’ll be fine, Pip. He won’t turn you away.” I want to add that he may turn me away. What if they have a dog like that jealous Moss? Two dogs is one dog too many. But I keep that to myself.

  We spend our night behind the hotel. There is quite a gathering of people there now and it’s noisy. Pip and I curl up together. I dream of the man with the tattoo. I dream that the snake uncoils itself from around the man’s neck and slithers after me. I try to run, but in my dream I’ve eaten too much lasagna and cannot move. The snake flicks out its tongue and bites me in the stomach.

  I wake up with a yelp and a feeling that my belly is on fire. Pip is not in good shape either, and he has his knees up on his chest and is moaning softly. He looks rather ashen. He sees me looking at him.

  “I feel awful, Ray. I want to be sick but I can’t with all these people around. I think I need some fresh air. Let’s move down to the pier.”

  There is no one around as we make our way slowly to the beach. Pip is bent double most of the way and continues to moan to himself. He throws up a few times behind a rock. I’m sick in some seaweed and feel much better after. I decide that lasagna is no longer my favorite food.

  Pip splashes seawater on his face and then drags his things up the beach, gets his sleeping bag out, and gets in it. There is an overwhelming smell of rotting fish and seaweed, but he doesn’t seem to care. I lick his face to make him feel better, but he’s got his eyes shut now. I think of Jack when he was ill. How can I get pills for Pip?

  I stay with him and watch the sunrise. A few early-morning walkers arrive on the beach, but we are hidden from view, and when I get up and look back at Pip in his sleeping bag, he just looks like another rock.

  I decide to get help. There is a jogger coming along the beach. I run toward him.

  “Can you help us?” I say. “My Pip is ill and I think he needs a doctor or to go to the hospital or something.”

  The jogger has earphones in and is listening to music. I don’t think he can hear me. I jump up at him as he’s running along, but he just kicks out at me and waves his arms.

  “Shooooo!” he says, and puts on a spurt of speed. I want to nip his stupid Lycra-clad legs. I won’t help him if he’s ever in trouble. I watch him run and think how ridiculous humans look sometimes.

  I try a couple of other people, but they think I want to play with them and throw things into the ocean for me. I’m too polite to ignore them, so I go and fetch the things back, but I can’t get them to follow me. What should I do? I shout my frustration at the waves and begin to make my way back to Pip. He looks very pale and seems to be
asleep. I hope he’s not dead. I put my nose near his mouth and feel my whiskers tickled by his breath. At least he’s alive. But what am I going to do?

  I remember the nice old lady who gave us Pip’s dad’s address. She’s the only person we’ve had contact with in this town. Surely if I could find her house again, she would come and help Pip.

  But I am torn. How can I leave him? What if something happens to him while I am away? What if he wakes up and finds I’m gone? He might be feeling better and get up and go, and then I might never see him again. I sit down next to him and wait.

  After a while I think I’ll try to wake him.

  “Pip,” I say, nudging him gently. “I think I’d better go and get some help.”

  Pip opens his eyes and stares at me. I don’t think he knows who I am.

  “Pip! It’s me. Ray. I’m going to go and get that lady who lives in your dad’s old house.”

  “Why are you whining at me?” Pip slurs. “I can’t come and play with you. I feel too sick. Can’t you find another dog to play with?” And he pulls his sleeping bag up over his ears and goes back to sleep.

  Well, that’s that, then. I’m going to have to find the old lady. I’ll just have to hope he doesn’t move before I come back.

  I retrace our steps. Back to the grate outside the hotel. Back to the spot on the beach where we ate. I can hardly bring myself to think of what we ate in case I’m sick again. I know this is a backward way of doing it, but I can’t remember the route to the restaurant unless I do exactly what we did the night before. Anyway, we didn’t sit on this exact same spot of the beach, so I don’t feel quite so silly.

  From the beach I take another route. I can smell the café from around the corner. Breakfast. Spoiled bacon and soggy toast. I feel like telling them they ought to be closed down for food poisoning, but I’m in a hurry.

  Then where did we come from? I remember we ambled a bit and I didn’t think that Pip knew where we were going. Why do all these roads look the same? Barton Road! Where are you?