The Small Dog With a Big Personality Read Free Page A

the Scarrycan left. It seemed more vital to move away from the telegraph pole on the opposite side of the road where fresh earth lay at the base. It was a gamble. Always a gamble. A bomb could behidden by the house, or a mine could be placed at the base of the pole or both could be safe. As he walked past the entrance to the house he suddenly became aware of the silence and, like a premonition, he realized that the fresh earth had been laid on purpose to push the soldiers towards the house. In the instant of this thought, Kinton was thrown aside by an explosion. Two gas containers had been packed with explosives and left outside. Probably they had been detonated by someone watching the soldiers approach the house. It was that callous. A cloud of black smoke and debris swirled in the air. Nearby Sergeant Regan scrambled to his feet and saw a wounded Marine lying to his right. As the company medic, Regan went into action, despite his own injuries, packing and dressing the man’s wounds, and with help from Kinton and the Marine brick commander he was made ready to board the Quick Reaction Force helicopter that had landed in a nearby field.
    As the helicopter swept into the sky bound for Belfast hospital, the local school bell rang and the children poured out into the playground. Normal lifeexisted in the midst of the fear and bloodshed. It was as if Crossmaglen operated two parallel lives and times. But where was that small brown dog?
    After making sure the injured had received the necessary medical attention, Major Woodrow returned to the scene of the blast to walk the land. He was looking for clues that could lead to the bombers. It was the first day of the Grenadier Guards’ tour and they had been involved in an ambush even before the handover had been completed. One Marine and a Guardsman lay in hospital – the Marine, named Weedon, later died of his wounds – and now the major had discovered a trail of blood. He knew it would not be human, as everyone had been accounted for. Could this be the blood of one of the unfortunate stray dogs that roamed the streets, ever hopeful of food? The trail died away to nothing.
    Two days later Major Woodrow was making a routine visit to the medical hut when who should he see but the little brown dog that had accompanied the patrol on the day of the ambush. It transpired that he had been badly injured in the blast but had found hisway back to the base where Sergeant Tim Fielding had found him lying just inside the perimeter fence. A dog lover and seasoned soldier, Fielding took the dog in his arms and carried him to the medical hut in the hope that the medic was equally fond of dogs. He found Sergeant Regan. Regan examined and stitched the hole in the dog’s side and tended to the cuts on his ears. Patched, stitched and swathed in bandages the little dog was now more crêpe bandage than brown fur. But he was in safe hands and, probably for the first time in his life, he was somewhere he could genuinely call home.
    Over the next four days the new recruit slept on his makeshift bed in the medical hut or on one of the bunks in the 18-man dormitory. He was not his usual perky self and for once showed little interest in what was happening around him. Fielding tended to the dog’s every need but became very concerned when he refused to eat. Major Woodrow, a dog lover himself, recognized how close Fielding was becoming to the injured stray and how the dog’s welfare was dominating his off-duty hours.
    We could all see Fielding’s determination to make Rat better. He virtually adopted the dog and made it his personal crusade to encourage him to take food. It was very touching to watch. And I think the dog, as much as a dog is able, realized the man wasn’t going to give up and gradually Fielding’s tender care started to pay off. Rat rallied round and was soon back on his rather weirdly shaped four legs.
    Aware that taking the dog off the street could be a potential problem if he was a