Authors: Nick Trout
“But I had forgotten they weren’t alone,” I add.
There are three other headstones next to theirs forming a little row. Each of these stones also has a name chipped into the rock. Another “Bess,”
“Penny,” and “Jet.”
“Other dogs from the village?”
My father just nods.
“I have to ask, how on earth did you get them up here? I mean it’s quite a way, and getting over the walls and fences.”
“It was,” he says, “but you can get a car a bit closer. I’ll show you on the way back.”
We stand for a quiet moment, paying our respects, but I am secretly watching how my father handles himself. Duncan will always be vulnerable when it comes to animals, keeping his soft side close to the surface, and I wonder if my trip up here, with me about to head off to America again, might have made him melancholy. When I gauge that he appears to be fine, I chance a difficult question.
“So what about Sasha? Is this where she will be buried too?”
“No,” says my father, and I wonder if the physical aspect of what he had done over a decade ago, the challenge of burying these dogs, was now too much, beyond his strength.
“She’ll be buried in our small patch of land behind the cottage. That way, I’ll keep her close by.”
As I stand there, I think, how strange to have made a lasting tribute to two dogs and still feel as though it wasn’t enough, as though they were still too far away.
When we get back to the cottage I take my mother aside.
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
“Your father? He’s fine. Fit as a fiddle.”
I search her face for signs of deception or exaggeration, and finding none add, “What happens when he loses Sasha? How’s he going to cope?”
“Nicholas,” she snaps, her shrill tone instantly transporting me back to a childhood scolding, “it’s not a matter of how
he’s
going to cope. How am
I
going to cope, what with him getting all maudlin and getting underfoot, moping about the house? I’ve told him a dozen times, this is it; after Sasha’s gone,
no more dogs.
”
This time, when I look, I see something give. Mum may have given it her best shot but she smiles back at me, all resolve weakening in her mischievous sparkly green eyes.
I have heard it all before. If and when the situation arises, I know exactly what will happen next.
And best of all, so does she.
The word
acknowledge
feels wholly inadequate in the context of a son’s gratitude to his parents. So much of what I try to achieve in life stems from the values they imparted and the sacrifices they made. There is comfort in knowing they have found a slice of heaven in the Yorkshire Dales, and in spite of the distance and times zones between us, I want them to know that they have not been taken for granted, that I am forever proud to call them “Mum” and “Dad.” For the record, any inference that my mother’s culinary skills were more Easy-Bake Oven than Julia Child was inappropriate and the work of a cheeky son!
In no particular order I would like to thank Beth Benson, Chris Dodds, Sandi Rasmussen, Vera Brown, Fiona, Pete, Jack, Holly, George, and Nick Richmond, Jack Shepherd, Ryan James, Arthur Stone, and my agent, Kristin Lindstrom. Once again I have been blessed and awed by the talent and commitment of the entire team at Broadway, in particular Ellen Folan, Jennifer Robbins, and my editor, Christine Pride. Somehow Christine manages to find the writer in the veterinarian. I thank her for her expertise and friendship.
At the heart of this book lies a desire to appreciate the attributes of those—on both two legs and on four—with whom we spend our lives. With respect to Meg and Sophie, they continue to be an entertaining, disparate, yet surprisingly compatible combo that feels just right. But as ever, it is my daughters, Whitney and Emily, and my wife, Kathy, to whom I owe everything. Thank you for allowing me to share this story and for your love and support. This book, this man, and this life would be nothing without all of you.
Nick Trout graduated from veterinary school at the University of Cambridge in 1989. He is a Diplomate of the American and European Colleges of Veterinary Surgeons and is a staff surgeon at the prestigious Angell Animal Medical Center in Boston. He is the author of two books, the
New York Times
bestseller
Tell Me Where It Hurts
and
Love Is the Best Medicine
, and has been a contributing columnist for
The Bark
and
Prevention
magazines.
Nick considers himself a runner (though his marathon days are behind him), an avid reader, and a passionate advocate for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, two daughters, and their two dogs, Meg, their yellow Labrador, and Sophie, their Jack Russell terrier.
Visit Nick Trout online at
www.facebook.com/drnicktrout
.