Dog Trouble!

‘Kate!’ There was no mistake. Greg was waving urgently at me and then broke into a run.
‘Curses,’ I said to Suzie. ‘What on earth does he want?’
Greg panted to a stop beside me while Chloe slobbered cheerfully over Darcy and Fairfax.
‘What is it?’ I asked, icily.
It was as if he was wearing a tog 50 duvet. My sub-zero vibes had no impact whatsoever. But then I understood why.
‘Kate, Biggles has fallen down some sort of storm drain and I can’t get him out,’ he gasped. ‘He’s howling away down there and I can hear gurgling. I don’t know if he’s in the water or what – and I left my phone at home. I was going to stop someone – and then I saw you and…’
He stopped. Suddenly he couldn’t say any more. I could see the panic in his eyes. Mr ‘I’m so cool’ was in complete melt-down – he was battling back tears of real fear.
I put one hand on his forearm.
‘It’s all right, Greg,’ I said, rather as I might to one of my little sisters. ‘You need to ring the fire-brigade. They’ll know what to do. But you need to calm down and explain exactly where this drain is.’
Then I got out my phone, dialled 999 and handed it to him.
Greg rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. ‘Hello?’ he started. ‘Hello? Yes, the fire service, please…’
I turned to Suzie while he explained.
‘Is it OK if we go with him to this drain?’ I said. ‘I don’t think we should just leave him. I’m really sorry.’
Suzie nodded vigorously. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to think of anything else until I know Biggles is OK.’ She looked at me anxiously. ‘Do you think he will be?’
I hadn’t dared think about that. It’s best not to let your mind wander to worst case scenarios when you’re in a crisis – it doesn’t help!
‘Only one way to find out,’ I said. Greg handed my phone back. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We’d better run.’
‘You’re coming with me?’ Greg looked startled.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Maybe we can get him out ourselves. Just move!’

The drain was below the exercise trail, slightly obscured by grass – but I was still surprised I’d never come across it before. I’ve been that way so many times.
‘The cover’s off,’ said Greg, seeing the question on my face. ‘Vandals, maybe? I don’t know. Anyway – Biggles fell in – he maybe smelt a rat or something.’
We peered down the hole. It was dank and dark and you couldn’t see the bottom. There was no sound except the gurgling of water.
‘Biggles? Biggles?’ Greg shouted. In reply, there was a mournful bark, but it sounded tired and faint, not the sort of sound you expect from a big dog like a Newfoundland.
Greg called again. Again the faint bark. Fairfax, Darcy and Chloe were frantic. It was hard to stop them throwing themselves down the hole after Biggles
‘Maybe one of us should go to the park gates,’ I panted, battling to hold the dogs back. ‘You can drive down here – but it’s not obvious which way to come. And maybe we should tie these dogs up.’
‘I wish they’d shut up,’ said Greg. ‘I can’t hear Biggles for them barking.’
‘I’ll go to the gates,’ said Suzie, eagerly. ‘Shall I take one of the dogs?’
‘I doubt if they’ll go, ‘I said. ‘No – you just get down there as fast as you can, Suzie. Come on, Greg, we’ll have to tie these three up – there’s nothing we can do with them leaping around like this.’
‘There’s nothing we can do anyway,’ said Greg. ‘And Biggles sounds so tired.’
I looked at his white face and decided he needed to pull himself together.
‘Stop it, Greg!’ I said. ‘You’ve given up already – and the firemen haven’t even got here yet. Now help me with these dogs.’
It was as if I’d slapped him in the face. Suddenly, he was alert. He let out an angry little breath between clenched teeth. Then…
‘You’re right, Kate,’ he said. ‘I’m being pathetic.’
Moments later the dogs were tied to a push-up bar and we were back by the hole.
‘Biggles?’ Greg called.
Nothing.
‘Biggles? Biggles?’
Still nothing.
‘BIGGLES?’ Greg’s voice was desperate now.
Silence.
Greg’s eyes seemed to bulge with panic.
‘He’s drowned, Kate – he was in the water and he couldn’t stay up any longer! Kate, Kate, he’s drowned!’ He had his hands on my shoulders, his fingers gripping me in desperation. I took hold of his arms and shook him.
‘Stop panicking, Greg!’ I told him. ‘Think – this drain has to go somewhere – if maybe he’s got washed away – maybe we can…’
‘The river!’ said Greg. ‘It’ll discharge into the river!’
I didn’t argue. It seemed obvious. I was vaguely aware of a siren in the distance but there was no time to lose. We slid down the bank to the river’s edge and sure enough, a concrete pipe stuck out from the bank, water gushing from its mouth into the current.
‘There’s Biggles!’ I shouted pointing.
And there he was, his nose just breaking the surface, his paws scrabbling feebly.
I had to hold Greg back to stop him jumping in straightaway.
‘Wait!’ I shouted.
‘There’s no time!’ Greg snarled at me.
‘Then you go in with a life-belt and I’m holding the rope!’
I scrambled back up to the path; I knew there would be a life-belt nearby and, thank God, there was, only twenty or so metres away and – thank God even more – it hadn’t been vandalised.
I grabbed it, hurled myself down the bank again and more or less threw it round Greg’s neck. Quickly, he pulled it on properly, scrambled out of his trousers – his shoes and jacket and T-shirt were already off – and jumped into the river.
He’s a good swimmer and he struck out fast. The current wasn’t particularly strong and Biggles hadn’t drifted far. My worry was how I was going to hang on to the life-belt rope once Greg had hold of Biggles. He was about 70 kilos of very exhausted dog. I refused to believe that he was dead. Did Greg have any chance of rescuing him? I had to believe that he did. I prayed that he would. Some people don’t think God cares about dogs – but I don’t believe that. How could the creator of a beautiful animal like Biggles be indifferent when he was in danger? Not to mention what losing him would do to Greg! I watched, letting the rope pay out through my hands, wanting to close my eyes and open them again when it was all over but not daring to. Greg was within a metre now, his hand stretched out. Thank goodness Biggles would be wearing a collar. At least that gave Greg something to grab.
I could hear the fire engine screeching to a halt behind me but couldn’t bear to take my eyes off Greg. With a sudden lunge he was there and yes – he had hold of Biggles.
‘Got him!’ he spluttered. I could scarcely hear him. ‘He weighs a tonne!’
‘Shall I pull?’ I wasn’t sure if pulling would help. It might just mean Greg would lose his hold.
‘Just try and hang on!’ Greg shouted. ‘It’s not deep – I can stand – but I can’t drag him in – he’s just too heavy.’
Greg sounded calm and efficient. He was doing his utmost to save his dog – there was no space for panic now.
The firemen didn’t seem to need any explanations. Suddenly one was standing beside me, helping me hold the rope. Two – no, four appeared in those huge black dungarees that they use for wading.
‘Just hold on, Greg,’ shouted one. ‘We’ll have you and Biggles out shortly.’
They’re good at all that stuff, the rescue services – using your name so you feel like they really care. Susie must have told them all the details. But I think they do really care. I mean, I would if there was someone in terrible danger – I can’t see how you’d ever get used to it.
It always feels like forever when you’re waiting to find out something really important. From the moment the firemen lowered themselves into the water, I had no doubt that Greg was going to be all right. But what about Biggles? It was impossible to tell from the bank. And the firemen seemed to move as slowly as astronauts. Was Biggles dead or alive? How long before I found out?