by Dion Leonard
Another check-in clerk came over and joined the conversation, pushing the volume up another couple of levels. By now Kiki was in full flow, pointing at Gobi and me in turn. I could do nothing but stand there and panic in silence.
All the paperwork we had to allow Gobi into the UK was tailored to our journey. That meant that if we arrived at Newcastle any later than midnight on 2 January, it would all be invalid, and I’d have to get Gobi seen and signed off by another vet. At the very best, that would add another day or two to the journey. At worst, it could take another week.
A third official joined the two behind the desk, and as he did, the atmosphere changed. The volume dropped, and he listened while Kiki talked.
After a few words from the boss, Kiki turned to me. “Gobi not booked on this flight,” she said. I knew what was coming next, how we would have to book her onto the next flight out, but that would cost us an extra—
“Go to that counter there,” Kiki said, pointing to another Air France desk nearby, “pay two hundred pounds, and he say they will get her on board.”
I was stunned. “On board this flight?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t waste any time. I paid the fee at the other counter and came back to get my boarding pass.
“I told them Gobi a famous dog,” said Kiki, and she smiled as I waited. “They know story and wanted to make it happen for you.”
As soon as I had my passport and my boarding pass in my pocket, it was Gobi selfies and smiles all around for the check-in staff.
I finally said goodbye to Kiki at passport control, then drifted through security, exhaling a ton of stress as I went.
“Wait one moment,” said a woman as I started putting my shoes back on. “You go with him.”
I looked up to see a serious-looking man staring at me from the side of the scanners. I grabbed Gobi—still in her carry-on bag—and my luggage and followed him down a narrow corridor. He showed me into a sparse, windowless room that had nothing much more than a desk, two chairs, and a large bin full of confiscated lighters and water bottles.
Keep calm, Dion. Keep calm.
The guy stared at my passport and boarding pass and started typing at the computer. Minutes passed, and still he didn’t speak. I wondered what it was that I’d done or said that could have landed me in trouble. I knew I hadn’t outstayed my visa, and it had been weeks since I’d last given an interview. Could it be the pills that Lucja had given me to help keep Gobi calm during the flight?
More typing. More silence. Then, suddenly, he spoke. “We check dog.”
My heart sank. I knew two hundred was far too cheap a price to pay to sort things out. And I knew that by now Kiki would be gone, and even though I had a file stuffed with paperwork from the vet, including proof that Gobi’s vaccinations were up-to-date and that she’d passed the ninety-day assessment required before she could be brought into the UK, I’d have absolutely no chance of explaining anything to anyone. Without Kiki, I’d be at the mercy of Chinese bureaucracy.
The guy stopped typing, picked up the phone, and spoke for a moment.
“You wait minute,” he said, once he had hung up and turned back to his keyboard.
Gobi was still in her bag, which I was clutching on my lap. Through the mesh I could see her looking up at me. I wanted to tell her that it was going to be okay, to get her out and give her a cuddle to reassure her—as well as myself—but doing so wasn’t worth the risk.
So I waited. It was the longest minute of my life.
The phone rang. I listened to one half of the conversation, clueless about what was being said or what the outcome might be.
“Okay,” he said eventually. “Dog cleared to fly. You go.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Fly.”
I hurried back down the corridor, past the scanning machines, and eventually to the terminal. I found an empty gate and took Gobi out to give her a drink. I heard some French people nearby count down and burst into cheers. I checked my watch. It was midnight. The most remarkable year of my life was over. The next adventure was about to begin.
“Listen, Gobi,” I said to her. “You hear that? It means we bloody well did it! We made it here, and we’re about to go. It’s going to be a long journey, but trust me that it’ll all be worth it. When we get to Edinburgh, you’ll see; life is going to be amazing.”
Air France made sure that the seat next to mine was empty, so even though Gobi had to stay in her carry-on bag for the duration, we travelled in style. She was a little unsettled as we took off, but as soon as I could put her bag on my lap, she calmed again.
I watched the in-flight map and waited until we flew over the Gobi Desert. It put a smile on my face to see Urumqi flash up and think about the way a city I’d never heard of a year earlier had become so significant to me now.
The cabin lights were dimmed, and my fellow passengers went to sleep. I turned the seat into a bed and quietly took Gobi out of the bag. She had started to get a little restless again, but as soon as she curled up in my arm, she fell into a deep, deep sleep.
I closed my eyes and remembered what it felt like to run on the long day. I could feel the heat all over again, the way the air was so hot it threatened to scorch my lungs. I saw Tommy struggling to stand and remembered the desperate search for shade. I also remembered that even though I was faint and queasy and worried that I might not make it out alive, I knew that if I did, I would do everything I could to make sure that Gobi and I spent the rest of our lives together.
I couldn’t hold back the tears when I saw Lucja at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Gobi, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back the fourteen hours of pee that her little bladder had stored up. I’d taken puppy pads with me and tried to get her to do her business on the plane, but she had refused. Only when she stood on the highly polished floor right in the middle of the concourse did she finally feel ready to let go.
I was sure that the rest of the journey home was going to be a simple affair, and we even made a detour into the city to show Gobi the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. After that we headed north to Belgium first, and then on to Amsterdam and the home of Lucja’s uncle, aunt, and cousins.
Seeing their excitement at meeting Gobi for the first time reminded me of the way people had responded to Gobi’s story in 2016. The year had been full of sad news, from celebrity deaths to terrorist attacks. Much of the world had been divided by politics, but I’d read many comments from people who felt Gobi was one of the few good news stories that restored their faith in human nature. In a year marked by grief and fear, Gobi’s story was a beacon of light. After a shower and a rest, Lucja, Gobi, and I said goodbye to the family and made our way to the ferry terminal that was just around the corner from the house. Lucja had spent weeks persuading the ferry company to bend the rule that forced dog owners to leave their pets in their cars or keep the dogs in the kennels provided on board. There was no way that was going to work for Gobi, and the company had finally agreed that we could take her with us in a cabin.
So I thought boarding would be easy and we were going to be fine. Nothing could go wrong, could it?
Well, yes, it could. And it did. Almost.
The moment we handed over Gobi’s pet passport at the check-in desk, the air changed. The woman behind the counter was flicking manically back and forth across the pages, a look of total confusion on her face.
“Do you need some help?” said Lucja in Dutch. “What are you looking for?”
“I can’t read it,” she said. “It’s all in Chinese. If I can’t read it, I can’t let you on.”
She called her superior over, and the two of them riffled through the pages all over again.
“We can’t read it,” said the boss. “You can’t come on board.”
Lucja had spent weeks learning about all the various requirements for moving a dog across borders, and she knew the rules inside out. She carefully and calmly showed both of them which stamp related to which vaccination, but it
was no use. They weren’t changing their minds, and until they did, Gobi was stuck in Holland.
Then I remembered the stack of paperwork that Kiki had given me for when we reached UK border control. It was all the same information but in English. I handed it all over, watched them look through it all carefully, and listened to them finally make some encouraging noises.
Eventually, with just a few minutes to spare, we got a smile and a stamp in Gobi’s pet passport. We were good to go.
The next morning, driving off the ferry, Lucja and I looked at each other nervously. Would we get stopped by UK border control? Would they find some flaw in the paperwork and send Gobi to London for an extra quarantine period? We approached the booth, held hands, and were surprisingly waved straight through. No checks. No hassle. No delay. Gobi was in the UK.
The drive north to Scotland was slow and easy, and as we passed low-slung hills and wide-open moors, I let my mind drift. I thought about the promise I had made to Gobi and the six months it took to make it happen. I thought back to all the people who donated money to help, the volunteers who spent day and night searching, and all the people worldwide who sent support messages and prayed for us. It wasn’t just me who made this happen; it was the collective power of generous, loving people.
These thoughts brought a tear to my eye. The world was still a loving, kind place.
As the long journey home drew to a close, we drove over the hill and stared at the view. All of Edinburgh was laid out before us: Arthur’s Seat—the mountain that stands guard over the city—the beach to the east, the Pentland Hills to the west. It was a beautiful day, not just because of the clear sky and clean air, and not even because it was my forty-second birthday.
It was perfect because of one simple, single reason.
We were together.
We made our way into the city, the car silent but our heads and hearts full. Turning onto our street, I realized I’d never thought about what it would feel like to walk through my front door, this remarkable little dog tucked under my arm.
I’d never thought about it because I’d never allowed myself to believe it would happen. All the deceit, all the fear, all the worry had weighed heavily on me. I’d never allowed myself the luxury of believing we’d finally do it.
But as the door opened and I saw good friends and loved ones inside, heard the popping of champagne corks and the cheers of people who were there to celebrate with us, I knew exactly what it felt like.
It felt like the beginning of a wonderful new adventure.
The hours and days that followed were busy in ways that reminded me of Urumqi. A TV crew had flown all the way from Australia to capture our return home and interview me. We received calls from journalists all over the world—some I knew well; others I had never spoken to before. They all wanted to know how Gobi had coped with the journey and what life held in store for her now.
I told them all how quickly she was adjusting to this new life, and how she and Lara the cat had already teamed up and taken joint ownership of the couch in our living room. I said that Gobi was an inspiration because she had dealt with the journey as she had dealt with every challenge thrown at her since we met. I told them I was proud of her.
But that was only part of the story. More than a handful of answers would be needed to say everything I wanted to say about Gobi. And sharing the ways in which finding Gobi had changed me would take even longer—especially as I was aware that this new life had only just begun.
Only Gobi knows the answer to many of the questions: Why was she wandering in the Tian Shan? Why did she pick me? What happened when she went missing?
What mattered most then and what still matters most today is this: from the moment I said yes to Gobi, my life has been different. Gobi has turned up the contrast. She has added to all the good things in my life and brought healing to some of the bad.
Gobi’s hip has healed, and the hair has grown back where she had to be shaved for the operation. She doesn’t squeal in pain if the site is inadvertently touched. When walking on soft ground, she will sometimes lift her leg slightly. The vet in Edinburgh says that’s likely a memory habit because placing weight on that hip used to be painful. When Gobi and I now run the hills and trails, her stride is perfect, and keeping up with her is just as difficult as it was in the Gobi Desert.
That first night when we all were finally together, Gobi and Lara took up residence at the foot of the bed, and I heard again the familiar silence of home. Lucja turned to me and quietly asked what I wanted to do the next morning. We had nothing planned, and the first few hours of the day were ours.
I knew exactly what I wanted. I looked at Gobi and then back at Lucja.
“Let’s all go for a run.”
PICTURE SECTION
From the moment I carried her in this position through the river crossing, Gobi has loved being in my arms.
My heart has never forgotten my first dog, Tilly. When my family moved from Roma to Warwick, we had to leave her behind with a farmer.
I was five in this photo; those skinny legs would come in handy one day.
I loved bike riding, moving as fast as I could, and I taught Christie how to ride too.
Garry and me at eight—within a year, it would never be the same again.
My skinny legs kept getting longer, and I started to play cricket and hockey.
My grandmother was my last connection to any real, loving family.
Deon Hansen was my best mate when we were growing up.
My sister and mother were with me on Lucja’s and my wedding day in Italy.
I was sucking in all the water I could during that 2013 155-mile race in the Kalahari Desert.
I had a surprising smile on my face, thanks to Lucja’s being with me after a run in the 2013 Kalahari race.
On day one of the 2014 race across the Kalahari Desert, I was gunning for the lead.
Day six was another marathon in the 2014 Kalahari race.
I nailed the long stage (nearly fifty miles) in six hours and fifty minutes in the Kalahari race in 2014.
I enjoyed a little bit of coolness with the temperature at 122 degrees in the 2014 Kalahari Desert race.
Lucja and I were proud as punch of each other in the 2014 Kalahari Desert: she finished second in the women’s race, and I finished second in the men’s.
I completed a non-stop sixty-two-mile race in the Gobi Desert in 2016.
Urumqi was plastered with these reward posters when Gobi was lost.
Where next? The search team and I worked out our next location to search for Gobi.
We bloody well found her—one of the best nights of my life!
I hosted a celebration dinner for the Ma family and all the volunteers who helped in the search for Gobi.
Richard and I celebrated Gobi’s return.
Gobi and I met Chris for the first time in Beijing. Chris had been instrumental in directing the search party and offering advice to find Gobi.
Gobi and I did some sightseeing outside Beijing at the Great Wall.
Gobi was feeling sorry for herself after that hip operation to mend the injury she suffered in Urumqi.
The time immediately after Gobi’s operation was tough for both of us.
While staying in Beijing, I often had to wear a pollution mask.
Kiki was the most amazing woman: she did everything possible to help Gobi and me in Beijing and organized our next steps to meet the requirements for departure.
Once all the requirements were met, Gobi and I were finally ready to leave China and start our journey home to the UK.
Time to fly! Gobi and I started the countdown, leaving Beijing for Paris.
Even though it took longer than imagined, I kept my promise to get Gobi to the UK and had a great feeling upon our arrival.
Chilling together on Arthur’s Seat, Gobi and I were still in complete amazement that we were finally home.
Lucja, Lara, Gobi, and I celebrated our first Chinese New Year together as a famil
y.
Gobi and I had our first run together on UK soil in my home city of Edinburgh, Scotland.
FOOTNOTES
Chapter 11
1Jonathan Brown, “Heartwarming Bond Between Ultra-Marathon Man and the Stray Dog He Refuses to Leave Behind”, Mirror, 27 July, 2016, updated 28 July, 2016, www.mirror.co.uk/news/real-life-stories/heartwarming-bond-between-ultra-marathon-8507261.
Chapter 16
1Kathryn Snowdon, “Missing Marathon Dog Gobi May Have Been Snatched by Dog Meat Thieves, Humane Society International Warns”, Huffington Post, 22 August, 2016, www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/gobi-missing-marathon-dog-may-have-been-snatched-by-dog-meat-thieves-humane-society-international-warns_uk_57baf263e4b0f78b2b4ae988.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
China has brought so much good to my life, and I am grateful to have spent so long a time there. In a country of more than one billion souls, I have met some of the most generous, thoughtful, and kind people I could ever hope to meet.
Kiki Chen was the one person who stuck with us from the start and made getting Gobi out of China actually happen. Chris Barden was a genuine “dog whisperer” who set up our search team and was instrumental in finding Gobi. To Lu Xin, I owe so much. She never stopped looking for Gobi and showed me what true generosity looks like. Jiuyen (Lil) was more than a translator, and her words helped me every day in the toughest of circumstances. I am profoundly grateful to all the volunteers who searched day and night for a dog they had never seen, to help a guy they had never met. I can never thank them enough but hope they know how important they are to this story.