Stinky dog.
Archie was a big, energetic and very good natured black Labrador who lived in the apartment next to mine in our village in Cyprus. His owner, K, works shifts and I have frequently had the joy of taking him for long walks in the countryside around the village.
The village is set back about a mile from the sea by a ridge that’s covered with corn fields, olive groves, and carob trees. There are no sheep up there.
Our preferred walking country though is to landward where there are big rolling corn fields separated by hedges, and a couple of sheep farms. The corn is all harvested now and Archie ranged far and wide foraging under the hedges but always keeping an eye on me and coming back when called. When there was a choice of routes as the tracks split and diverged ahead of us he always waited there until I caught up with him and decided which way to go.
Now that the crops are all down the sheep flocks are out in the care of shepherds but Archie had shown no interest in them but they, the sheep, had left lots of smelly droppings that did interest him and in which he loved to roll. K had complained a couple of times about the state of “Stinky dog” when I brought him home. So when I was asked to exercise Archie yesterday afternoon I took him up onto the more hygienic area to seaward.
He revelled in the space and raced around making full use of the lots of new tree trunks but failed to return when I called him every 5 minutes or so. I searched and called until sunset and then walked home hoping to find him on the doorstep but he wasn’t there. I decided to have a quick snack and to return to the search by torchlight and was just taping a note to K’s door when she rang and asked if Archie was home and became distraught when I said no, crying “My dog is dead, my dog is dead”. Some villagers had found him in a swimming pool and, recognising him, had called her at work to check.
It appeared that he had lost contact with me in the unfamiliar groves and had set out to look for me in our usual area. That meant making his way right across the village and perhaps he had stopped for a quick drink of water and fallen into the pool and, being unable to find a way out, had drowned.
Archie’s body was brought home and all that I could do was to wrap him in something soft and sit and wait until K came home after midnight. There was nothing that I could do or say that would ever put things right.
Sorry for the long sad wail but I’ve got to tell somebody.
like an urbane chat show host.
