The Day Began in an Unusual Way
No, to be fair, the very start was quite ordinary. I was curled up, fast asleep, pressed against the door. I felt a few nudges in my back, but I was too lazy to wake up, so my owner had to squeeze himself through the narrow gap. Eventually I woke properly, rolled over onto my back, stretched, tucked my paws up like a rabbit, and waited for the usual chest and ear scratches. I even shut my eyes to show that I was entirely at his disposal.
A Bag with Straps
And then… things took a turn. My owner brought in some sort of bag with straps. I honestly thought it was a harness. My heart skipped a beat. Surely he wasn’t going back to his old tricks?
You see, when I was just over a year old, he loved putting a harness on me and fastening all sorts of things to it when we walked by the sea. Stones, logs — whatever came to hand. And I had to drag them along. They were heavy, dug into the sand, and left deep furrows — as if a ship’s anchor was being dragged across the seabed. I felt like I was ploughing the ocean floor. Yes, there were treats afterwards, but it was hard work. And above all, I couldn’t understand why.
Old Training, New Purpose
Later I overheard my owners saying that those exercises had strengthened my muscles, and perhaps that training helped me cope with my hip problems — sadly, rather common for us Newfoundlands. Until I was five, I hadn’t the faintest idea I had them from birth. And then, when it all caught up with me and I couldn’t even climb the stairs or jump into the beloved boot of the car, a course of physiotherapy and six months of regular swimming in the dog pool put me right again. Now I’m fine, and my owners saved themselves £15,000!
But that was long ago. Why now? Was I to drag great stones across the sand once more???
The question answered itself when I saw that my owner was putting the bag with straps on himself, not on me. Now that was interesting!
The Jurassic Stone
I remembered that the day before, we had found a peculiar stone on the beach, covered in patterns. No one knows what left them 60 million years ago in the Jurassic age. My owner guessed it had been a huge shell turned to stone, while my lady owner saw some sort of molluscs in it. From the way he had hauled it out of the waves and carried it beyond the tide line, it was clearly heavy. Was he really planning to drag it all the way home across the sand? What a laugh that would be!
And indeed, that was the plan. It was a fair trek — about two kilometres from home. We set off light-footed, with only a couple of stops for my necessities. The stone lay exactly where he had left it. Where else would it be? Yesterday he had hidden it beneath a log, turned upside-down so no one would see the patterns, and weighted it with another stone. That second stone I didn’t see today — the tide must have reached even that far.
The Struggle Home
Then came the business of wedging the big stone into the bag with straps. It wasn’t keen to leave the spot it had occupied for millions of years. But my owner is stubborn: once he decides something, he sees it through. Soon enough the stone had vanished into the bag, and he heaved it onto his back. At that moment I could clearly imagine how he felt, remembering the straps of my harness cutting into me when I had dragged such stones myself.
One question sprang up at once. All right, I ploughed the sand for the sake of my health, but what was the point for him? Still, if it had to be done, it had to be done. I would support him. I kept close, looking up into his eyes — “is it heavy, are you managing?” — and glancing back at the trail. He left no furrows as I once did, but the line of his deep footprints stretched almost to the place where we had found the stone.
With two pauses for rest, we got the stone home. Now it stands in our garden, a reminder of how fleeting our lives are compared with nature. And that we must live, taking joy in every single day.
A Day to Remember
And today, my owner gave me that joy: to remember my youth, to think good thoughts, to be at his side when he was struggling. To give him moral support, at least.
All in all, the day was a success!
