The Foot of the Night_Molly Kirby

COVER The Foot of the Night Molly Kirkby

The Foot of the Night

Molly Kirby

The Foot of the Night Copyright © 2024 Molly Kirby (pen name Susan Blunt) Editor and proofreader: Annie Deakins, Proofnow, www.proofnow.co.uk All rights reserved.

ISBN: XXXX

Dedication For Django and Kiki

Chapter One In the dead of winter amid the far reaches of a high valley surrounded by forest and mountains, a handful of time-worn houses perched in the rafters of an ancient, rugged landscape, unchanged for centuries. In the twilight, just before dawn, everything in this remote neighbourhood had been in the icy grip of its soaring frozen latitude for over a week. Deep snowdrifts had reduced the one road in and out of the village to a single track as brittle as broken glass. Wood smoke drifting upwards from the home fires hovered above the rooftops, as if caught in an invisible web suspended between the steep mountain slopes, enfolding the whole valley in a soft white haze.

February could be a harsh month in the Pyrenees. Inherited wisdom, heedful of the cruel weather outside, kept the villagers close to their fireside. If caught stealing a glance, the eyes of any poor traveller adrift in the cold would be drawn to the golden glow from the hearths of those snug and cosy interiors. Alas, shutters stayed closed until late that day, leaving no one in this remote, refrigerated world to see the woeful trail of a thin black and white dog, roaming in and out of the narrow alleyways, rummaging in bins and nosing through rubbish, searching for meagre scraps of whatever he could find to eat that would help to stave off his gnawing hunger.

Gascon was a stranger here, as he had been in all the other villages over the past month. Lost and friendless, he had learned not to expect a welcome, but to take advantage of the twilight hour just before daybreak to make a chancy snatch at anything to last him for the day. Competition for food was stiff at all times, wherever he went. Even in the early hours, the village cats and dogs would be guarding their own sparse rations. A stranger caught queue-jumping was asking for a fight. Now, on the brink of collapse, he knew that he couldn’t go on for much longer without something to eat, particularly if he was injured. Help was in short supply. The villagers along the way had done nothing to encourage him. No one wanted a stray dog hanging about. So for now he would have to lurk in the shadows and silently take stock, but the closer it got to dawn the more dangerous it became.

There was a sudden loud clatter as a shutter was flung open. Gascon’s all-consuming hunger overcame his natural instinct to dive for cover as the irresistible aroma of baking bread wafting through the open window flooded his senses. He gaped around ravenously, inescapably drawn towards the direction of the smell, his empty stomach griping for want of food.

‘It’s no use, I can’t go on,’ he groaned, drooling at the enticingly doughy draught coming from the kitchen. ‘It’s a risky business, but it might be the only meal I’ll get today. Well, here goes nothing,’ he muttered, already anticipating the inevitable angry outcry.

Just as he was cautiously eyeing the bakery door, a large grey cat appeared on the windowsill casting a superior eye over the street on the lookout for amusement. His name was Pierre and no one could accuse him of low self-esteem. He was the favourite of the two cats that lived here, which gave him a rather overinflated opinion of himself. With a cat’s instinct for the slightest movement, he sensed Gascon skulking in the shadows.

‘Hey you, mangy fleabag, what’s your game?’ he hissed, in a tone as cruel as the winter weather.

‘Think you can come round here helping yourself to our stuff while no one’s watching?’

Priding himself on being a textbook example of meanness, Pierre launched himself out of the window.

‘Get lost or else!’ he screeched, with an ear-splitting yowl that pierced the darkness, bringing heavy footsteps to investigate the outcry.

Gascon didn’t need telling twice to make himself scarce. He knew by now that getting caught rummaging through an upturned bin meant big trouble. He scrambled down one of the narrow alleyways between the houses, and, without stopping to think, catapulted himself headlong through an overgrown entrance, all but hidden below some stone steps, so low a man would need to stoop to get in. He found himself hurtling down a long murky tunnel, that within seconds, widened out into a small poorly lit space. Gascon stopped dead, stunned by two great saucer eyes that loomed at him in the half light, from a ledge in the corner of what looked like an old disused storeroom. The hound was in such a state of terror at meeting this ghostly apparition that his wits momentarily deserted him. He blinked hard several times in an effort to make sense of what lay before him. Just as the panic was beginning to subside and he was on the verge of taking to his heels again, his escape was halted by the sound of a kindly voice.

‘Hey, hold on, don’t run away. You’re in no danger here I promise you,’ the phantom’s eerie words came floating through the darkness. ‘This is my secret hideaway. No one ever comes here.’

Gascon hesitated, torn between fear and exhaustion. Adjusting his eyes to the gloom, he made out the shape of a large black and white cat perched high upon a wooden shelf running the length of the far wall. He was beyond tired by now and so desperate to be out of the cold. The cat looked harmless enough, and due to its basement position under the steps, the place did feel safe and warm.

‘What is this place?’ he stammered. ‘Are you hiding down here because you’re lost too?’

‘No, not exactly,’ replied the cat patiently, ‘But we all have our reasons to hide. My problem,’ he went on gloomily, ‘is that I’ll always be the newcomer in my house. I was lost just like you and I thought it was my lucky day when I was taken in. That was until I met the resident cat who does his best to make my life a misery. Just because I’m quiet and easy going, I’m considered to be the weak cat in my house. No one ever sees him pushing me about and generally ruling the roost.’

Gascon could identify with this. He too had suffered because of his gentle nature and had always been considered the weak dog in his pack.

‘He’s not big and grey is he?’ Gascon asked, stiffening at the recollection.

‘Ah, you’ve made his acquaintance already I see. Meow like a megaphone? Yes, that’s Mr Sweetness himself,’ the cat laughed dryly. ‘Welcomed you with open claws I’m sure. Believe me, you’d be well advised to keep as far away as possible from that mischief-maker.’

‘He’s already done his best to get me into trouble,’ the hound cried indignantly. ‘I was so desperately hungry that I couldn’t resist the smell of baking coming from your window. He was sitting there watching me. He called me mangy and told me to get lost. That hurt, because I am so utterly lost and deeply ashamed of my appearance. I never used to look like this,’ he whispered, his voice trailing off mournfully as he turned a sad wistful gaze on his once glossy coat, now caked with mud.

The black and white cat’s eyes filled with tears as he regarded the quiet dignity of this starved and dirty animal who had fallen on hard times. Having been there himself, he decided that he wasn’t going to stand by and see this unfortunate creature chased out of his town, but he was wise enough to know that he would need to tread carefully to gain his trust and persuade him to stay for a while.

‘My name’s Henri by the way and I’m very pleased to meet you,’ he said in quiet welcome.

The old hound nodded his thanks, appearing at a loss to reply. In the expectant silence that followed, Henri immediately grasped the situation, suspecting that his visitor was most likely a nameless hunting dog. Just one hound in a pack of many.

‘You have the noble markings of a Gascon hound,’ he improvised briskly, ‘May I call you Gascon?’

The hound shrugged dubiously, looking as confused as if he’d been asked a trick question.

‘That’s settled then,’ pronounced Henri, with admirable tact and obvious relief. ‘So Gascon,’ he enquired gently, ‘As you’re a stranger in these parts, can you remember how you came to be lost?’

Gascon dreaded reliving the nightmare of the past weeks, but he was grateful for Henri’s interest.

‘I’m a stranger everywhere I go now,’ he began, with an effort. ‘I’d been roaming for weeks before I accepted that the trail had gone cold. The hunt covers such a vast area, you see, so the chase can go on for miles following the scent of the prey. We hounds stay in contact through the sound of the bells on the collars we wear and our constant howling. Many of the dogs now wear radio collars so that their owners can keep track of their position, but not in my pack,’ he shrugged hopelessly. ‘Sometimes we are taken off in trailers to hunt in different areas, to places quite a long distance from home!’ he wailed, calming himself with obvious difficulty at the raw memory. ‘That’s how I came to be lost,’ sighed the grief-stricken old hound.

‘Take your time Gascon,’ said Henri patiently. He’d heard from a veteran hunt dog amongst his closest friends, that despite the hunt being carried out mostly on foot, it spreads out over several hectares of ground. The old stager had often boasted the grisly details of his excursions into the hills, adding that the high mountains were no friend to animals. He recalled that it was not unusual for a truant hound to be found wandering after the hunt, but usually having some form of identification, they were promptly returned home. For some unknown reason, Gascon had no

identification to trace him back to his owner, and his nose on the day he was lost could tell him nothing of the route to follow home.

‘It was just an ordinary start to the hunt that day,’ he resumed more calmly, ‘But when I made my way back to the round up point afterwards, everyone had gone. Men, dogs, trailers, the lot. I may have been a little slower than some of the other hounds, but knowing there were never any thanks for dawdling, I always made it back as fast as I could. Where was everybody? I was astonished. This had never happened before, so I stayed there in the same place all day waiting for someone to realise that I was missing and come back for me. I waited all night, cowering in the undergrowth, too afraid to close my eyes in the rustling darkness. Even in the morning I was still hopeful that the hunters would be returning to continue the chase and expect to find me there, but as the day wore on I had to admit that I had been left stranded in a strange place.’

Henri was privately of the view that Gascon was one of a host of ageing hounds who, most likely, had been deliberately abandoned. It was a despicable, but perennial practice once the hunting season ended in February, overrunning the accommodation and resources of animal sanctuaries across the country.

‘Has anyone checked to see if you do have some form of identification,’ he asked hopefully.

‘I’m afraid I’ve done my best to keep out of the way of the villagers,’ replied Gascon apologetically.

Henri suspected that because of Gascon’s nervous disposition, his exposure to strangers throughout his hunting life would have been so limited he would always shy away from human contact.

‘So, what did you do next?’ he probed kindly, hoping the dog would reveal some hint to his identity.

‘On my first day all alone I had no idea where to begin,’ Gascon continued gravely. ‘The mountain forest is hopelessly remote. It’s just trees and valleys opening onto endless other valleys as far as the eye can see. I spent all day retracing my steps along the winding paths, searching for any clue to show the way home until darkness was beginning to fall. That first night all alone in the deep forest was terrifying,’ recalled the hound, on a shuddering breath. ‘I felt so conspicuous in those shadowy woods, knowing instinctively that I must find a secure hiding place to shelter out of the wind and rain, somewhere I would have a chance of defending myself against wild forest creatures. Then a thick mist came down, engulfing everything so rapidly, that I had to bolt for cover right where I was. I stumbled about and all but fell into a cleft in a nearby rock. I crouched there rigid with fear, too afraid to move for wondering what might be lying in wait in the dead of night.’

‘Well don’t upset yourself any more now,’ soothed Henri looking down on the stricken creature.

What despair there was in those wide eyes. He sensed that poor Gascon was not only sagging with hunger and exhaustion, but that his spirits had been laid low by the unexpected events that

had turned his world upside down. ‘You must be so weary of being constantly on the move,’ he said gently. ‘May I offer a suggestion?’

Gascon looked alarmed, drawing back doubtfully. The cat broached the subject cautiously, knowing that he must pitch his invitation with utmost delicacy if he was going to persuade the dog to stay.

‘Well, it’s gets pretty lonely here,’ he began earnestly. ‘You’d be doing me a favour if you felt that you could stay and make yourself at home here for as long as you need. ‘I’d be very glad of the company,’ he added hopefully.

As Henri suspected, even though Gascon was desperately weary, his naturally wary disposition got the better of him. The old hound was full of apology, excusing himself politely while edging towards the exit.

‘Thank you Henri, that’s so kind of you, but I’d make very poor company I’m afraid. The ways of the human world are so confusing and terrifying,’ the hound sighed hopelessly. ‘Towns, villages, people, noises, you name it, I just don’t know what to make of them. I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay and rest for a while, but it’s time I should be moving on. I’ll be better off finding somewhere to sleep in the woods on the outskirts of the village.’

Gascon was getting on in years now and his life as a working dog would have been confined to living outdoors in the company of a group of pack hounds. There was still much of that shy restraint within him. Henri had wisely predicted the hound’s reaction, and with his mind racing, he deftly introduced his back-up plan before Gascon had a chance to escape. Uncovering a juicy chicken leg that he had been saving for himself, he tossed it unannounced through the air into the eagerly open jaws of the astonished dog.

Near to starvation, having eaten only rotting scraps and junk for weeks, Gascon devoured it as ravenously as a wolf. When he had licked up the last scrap, he looked up at Henri in a daze, garbling words of gratitude and apology.

‘That was unbelievable,’ he gasped mightily. ‘It was the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, but it must have been your breakfast and now I’ve gone and eaten it all. I’m so sorry, Henri, I just couldn’t help myself,’ he apologised profusely. ‘I’m afraid I’ve nothing to give you in return.’

‘Oh, think nothing of it,’ assured Henri. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from,’ he added, with a mischievous wink. ‘The funny thing is, that particular tasty morsel was snaffled from under the nose of our friend Pierre. He always muscles in on the choicest leftovers anyway, but I’ll be in for it when I get home, so I’m staying put for a while. Why don’t you do the same for the time being?’

Jolted back to reality, Gascon was again seized with panic by all the sudden concern. ‘Could there be something he was missing?’ Was he being thrown a much-needed life line, or was this some sort of trick to ensnare him?’ His quandary was twofold, but in a toss-up between fear and exhaustion, he knew that, whatever happened, he hadn’t the strength to resist any longer. He

must learn to trust his instincts, and this cat had been the only living creature to show him any form of kindness on his travels. Anxious that he shouldn’t give offence, he paced around the little room examining each corner, seeking assurances to calm the multitude of fears that were crowding his tortured imagination. He inched towards a little niche in the far corner. It was dry and warm and hidden from prying eyes behind an old barrel. It felt the safest place he’d known in ages as he tentatively shifted around in enquiring circles, padding down on a pile of dusty old straw. He glanced shyly at the kindly cat watching over him and felt unaccountably comforted by his presence. His eyelids were already beginning to droop as he finally gave in to fatigue, flopping his weary body down heavily on the straw.

‘Well perhaps I could close my eyes for a while,’ he yawned. ‘I’ll just have a rest and then be on my way. I don’t want to be a bother.’

‘Do just as you like Gascon and trust me you’re no bother, the cat assured him. ‘And don’t worry I’m not going anywhere,’ he added, purring gently as the hound’s breathing eventually deepened into a troubled sleep. Standing guard over the poor sleeping animal, Henri was truly saddened to see the dark recollections racking the dog’s slumbers and furrowing his brow. He recalled the time when he’d been down on his luck, and, for obvious reasons, he wouldn’t describe his current abode as such a happy landing, but at least it was a roof over his head. Life always had its problems, but the benefits of living in a village outweighed a life on the road and with a little imagination, he’d learned to call it home. ‘Oh yes,’ he mused silently, he’d certainly experienced enough suffering to offer the hand of friendship to a brother in trouble.

A sudden flash of alarm jolted Henri out of his reverie, as he realised that his best friend Auguste usually dropped in for a chat about this time on his daily tour of the village. Acutely aware that any kind of intrusion would be certain to scare the hound away, he slid down noiselessly from his place in the corner and crept outside to waylay his old pal at the entrance to the passage. He arrived just in the nick of time, to find Auguste meandering down the alley at that very moment.

Henri met his friend in one elegant bound.

‘Auguste, I’ve got a visitor,’ he whispered, urgently signalling for quiet. ‘He’s an exceptionally nervous hunting dog going by the name of Gascon, who seems to have “got himself lost”,’ he snorted scornfully, flashing his friend a knowing look. ‘He’s turned up on our doorstep in rather a bad way I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, I get the picture,’ replied Auguste, shaking his head disapprovingly. ‘Ran out on him, did they?

What rotten luck, but I’ve seen that happen often enough in my time. Perhaps I can help, although I can’t promise unless he’s local,’ he added doubtfully. ‘Still you never know, he could resemble dogs from some hunting pack I knew in the old days.’

‘Much appreciated old pal,’ Henri smiled affectionately, ‘You never fail to come up with something.’

Auguste was a sweet, well-padded fox terrier who owed his unflappable good nature to being the apple of his elderly owner’s eye. Their hunting days were long over, but fond memories,

harking back to the daring adventures they had shared in the forests, had forged an unbreakable bond. As the old huntsman’s beloved companion, Auguste had been luckier than most hunting dogs taking for granted the comfort of a meal and a warm basket after a hard day’s chase. In normal circumstances, he would be joining the rest of the pack as they made their way back to the cold bleak pens in the woods, knowing there would be no reward.

‘From what you’ve told me, Henri,’ cautioned the terrier, ‘gaining his trust will be no easy matter,’ The cat rose abruptly to his feet, suddenly reminded of his promise to stand guard over the old dog. ‘You’re right Auguste,’ he agreed, ‘And being such a nervous creature, I don’t think it’s wise to spring any more surprises on him right now. You’ll appreciate better than most what we’re dealing with here. Never having spent any time around a village, he’s ready to jump at his own shadow.’

‘I understand,’ nodded Auguste, always ready to oblige. ‘I’ll leave you to pave the way for now, but when you think he’s up to it, try to persuade him that I’m a friend too. I’ll do anything I can to help.’

‘Thanks again, Auguste, you’re a star. Oh actually, old chap,’ recalled Henri, suddenly alarmed by a very pressing problem. ‘The poor thing is on the point of starvation and I’ve nothing left to give him. He’s bound to be desperately hungry when he wakes up, and, if I’m not here watching out for him, he’ll wander off in search of food. Then all our efforts will be doomed to failure from the start.’

‘That’s easily solved, old pal,’ assured the terrier, priding himself on having a card or two up his sleeve. ‘The butcher made it here through the snow this week, and you know he always leaves a big pile of meaty bones on the wall near his van as a treat for us dogs. I’m not proud of myself,’ he admitted, looking shamefaced, ‘but on account of the bad weather, I grabbed a big stash, just in case, and buried them under a snowdrift to keep them fresh. Going on past experience, I’ve found it wiser to conduct my private affairs, under cover of darkness to avoid drawing unwanted attention from those scheming cats,’ he added with a sideways glance. ‘But needs must in an emergency, so leave it to me and I’ll be back in a flash.’

Henri watched as his friend sloped off discretely to retrieve the bone. Kind-hearted Auguste was your man in a crisis. He was the only one to befriend him when he too was a lonely wanderer.

That was many years ago now, he mused, recalling how difficult he’d found it to settle at the beginning. It was Auguste’s friendship that persuaded him to stay in the village and after spending some time around the place he’d eventually lost his fear of people, so there may be hope for Gascon too.

Henri hovered on the threshold, anxiously awaiting his friend’s return. As promised, Auguste was soon back with a slightly frozen, but rather juicy bone, which he hastily deposited at the entrance of the den before making a tactful exit.

‘Keep me posted, Henri,’ he mouthed silently as he crept away. ‘Best of luck.’

‘Thanks a lot, old chap,’ replied Henri. ‘Get back to you very soon.’

Henri had anticipated, that from weeks of living rough, Gascon would wake up alert and ready to run. With this in mind, he hurriedly dragged the bone, weighing roughly half his own body weight, along the corridor, placing it just slightly out of reach of the still heavily sleeping hound.

He was hoping that the irresistible aroma of the meat would overcome the ravenous dog’s obvious fear and mistrust of his surroundings as he awoke, giving him enough time to persuade the exhausted creature to see some sense.

His foresight was soon put to the test, as Gascon woke up with a start. As he’d suspected, the hound’s body was immediately poised for flight as the strange odours of the den broke into his awakening senses. After a split second of panic, Gascon’s nose met with the blissful meaty atmosphere Henri had so shrewdly contrived.

‘Hello, did you sleep well?’ Henri purred casually, now back on his usual perch in the corner as if nothing had happened. ‘I guessed you’d still be hungry when you woke up. It’s all yours,’ he said gesturing towards the bone. ‘Tuck in whenever you’re ready, I’ve already eaten,’ he invited good heartedly, gallantly ignoring the fact that he was famished himself by this time.

‘Are you sure Henri? I mean, is that all for me?’ breathed Gascon, his eyes out on stalks, hardly able to believe his luck at the sight of such a succulent feast. ‘I think I must be having a marvellous dream,’ he cried in disbelief, never having known such luxury as this before.

Hunting hounds are used to being fed communally, and soon learn to compete with other dogs for their share of the food, snatching away whatever they can get. Feeling secure in the knowledge that the bone was all for him, Gascon made an ungainly effort to be courteous, shuffling forward on his stomach, pawing and raking the bone towards him, before gripping it jealously between his paws. By this time his appetite was so aroused by the prospect of fresh meat, that manners became a distant memory. As soon as his teeth met with the bone, he began tearing at it ferociously, pausing only now and then for breath and to cast a quick embarrassed glance at his host. Henri looked on indulgently as Gascon tried to devour the bone as politely as any ravenous dog can manage. Satisfied at last, after feasting for ages on the lean meat, Gascon began to relax, gnawing contentedly on the remains of the bone. It warmed Henri’s heart to see the old hound snuggling deeper into the little straw bed he’d made for himself in the corner as the day was drawing on. He felt an overpowering urge to protect him. In his view, this poor, lost dog should stay around the village, at least until springtime.

‘Listen Gascon, I’ve been thinking,’ began Henri, choosing his words carefully. What he said next would not only affect Gascon’s future, but it would also provide a much-needed solution to his own problems. He felt ungrateful to contemplate deserting his kind master, but consoled himself that he wasn’t doing it on a selfish whim; it was for Gascon’s sake too. ‘Remember me telling you that life in my house is not exactly harmonious,’ he continued, hoping it sounded convincing. ‘Well, I’ve been intending to leave for a while now, but I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve have become a bit soft. I haven’t the courage to venture out into the world on my own again,

but it’s safe and warm in here and with you for company, you’d be doing me a huge favour if you might consider joining me?’

Gascon was deeply touched. This good-hearted cat was indeed throwing him a desperately needed lifeline, but at what cost to himself when his den was eventually discovered?

‘I’m truly grateful for your kind offer to let me rest until I get my strength back Henri, but I’m bound to be noticed if I stay. Trust me, nobody wants a stray dog hanging about. Thanks a million my friend, but as soon as I’m strong enough I should be on my way.’ Gascon had tried his best to keep out of sight in the last village he’d passed through. It was worth it just to creep into somewhere warm for the night, but dodging in and out of sheds and rooting in bins was a dangerous game. He’d always been spotted and forced to move on in the end.

‘Well let’s not go into it any more just now,’ soothed Henri, not wanting to press the matter. ‘It’s time I went about my business. Do you think you’ll be okay on your own here for a while. I need to show my face at home from time to time and to check out the kitchen cupboards,’ he said, with a significant wink. One thing Henri really appreciated about living in a village was the benefit of a year-round availability of food. ‘No doubt Saint Pierre will be on patrol, but he’s not quite the smart alec he thinks he is. I’ve hatched a plan to put his meddling nose out of joint, but success hinges on a little something I prepared earlier that I must present to my master in person. Then, all being well,’ he announced with more confidence than he felt, ‘I’ll make a swift getaway and be right back.’

Gascon was hesitant at the thought of being left alone, but what alternative was there? Henri had things to do and they hadn’t been disturbed so far. Anyway, he was still tired and more than grateful to have found a safe refuge away from prying eyes for a while.

‘Yes, you go. I’ll be fine,’ he assured Henri, as bravely as he could muster. ‘I’m feeling so much better now. It’s been a long time since I’ve known what it is to have a warm bed and a full stomach. Although heaven knows what I can ever do to repay your kindness.’

‘Don’t even think about it after all you’ve endured Gascon. You’d do the same for me I know.

Right, I must be off!’ said the cat decisively. ‘Just stay put and I’ll be back in a jiffy to tempt you to a tasty supper.’

With that, Henri tore off down the winding alleyways exercising his well-practised wall vaulting technique and was back home in a matter of minutes. Now that he was alone, Gascon couldn’t help casting a wary eye over his shadowy surroundings. His ears pricked with alarm as the villagers shovelled paths through the snow. The distorted sounds that came echoing down the narrow passage felt too close for comfort. His timorous nature had always made him prone to imaginings and suddenly afraid of being all alone in the den, he pressed himself deeper into its dark recesses.

Chapter Two Henri, meanwhile, had unearthed his hidden trophy to present to his master and, as luck had it, the bakery door was left open. The evening meal was just coming to an end and the family was on the move. A perfect moment to fulfil his duties. He had to earn his keep and this part of his daily routine was an excellent strategy for keeping in favour with his master. Best of all, he couldn’t resist the look of malice on Pierre’s face when he came strutting in proudly with the unfortunate rodent between his teeth. He knew that the grand personage Pierre imagined himself to be hated playing understudy to his Principal Boy. ‘So that’s what you’ve been up to all day Henri,’ cried the baker full of praise.‘ Good boy. Very well done. It’s such a sad task I know, but without you and Pierre on patrol in the bakery, we would be overrun in winter as the poor little creatures come in from the cold.’

Observing this well-practised pantomime from the wings, Pierre cast Henri a venomous look full of the promise of things to come for stealing the limelight. After accepting his due praise from the family, Henri had more urgent things on his mind. It was time for him to take his bow and make a point of leaving for the day. He had no intention of hanging around, and not without good reason, as quietly unobserved, Pierre had begun slyly circling the kitchen floor towards him.

Expecting that the ill-natured creature would be out for his blood, he hid round the corner, concealing himself behind a jumbled pile of boxes while he considered his next step. Pierre was immediately after him in hot pursuit, seething, beside himself with rage.

‘Come out you clown. I know you’re in there somewhere,’ he shrieked. ‘Your silly game is up and when I get my claws into you, your life won’t be worth living.’

Henri rolled his eyes and yawned, he’d heard it all before and he wasn’t particularly intimidated.

Going on Pierre’s past ability, the only things he could pursue with any success were his own petty interests. Jealousy always clouded his judgement and that would be his downfall. It wouldn’t occur to a cat of such a self-important nature that he was being regularly outsmarted.

Henri smiled to himself anticipating the introduction of a little necessary manipulation to execute his plan.

‘Any moment now!’ he breathed, ‘Three, two, one, bingo.’ Right on cue the church bells began to peal out at 6.00pm. Distraction was central to Henri’s scheme to get Pierre well out of the way, predicting that his enemy would now be hearing violins instead of church bells. Without fail, around this time each evening, Pierre’s thoughts turned to romance, drawing him like a magnet to the same old place for a glimpse of the slinky Persian delights of the glorious Mimi.

‘Well, so far so good,’ he chuckled as Pierre took the bait. ‘Time to put plan B into action.’

Ever the strategist, Henri had used his shrewd awareness of a cat’s territorial nature to concoct a plan to muscle in on Pierre’s patch. He watched anxiously to ensure the cat was following his usual route, knowing that, as a creature of habit, the besotted Pierre always returned by way of

the apple orchard to meet his enchantress. Henri then tore off down the little service road that skirted the village and entered the orchard through the back way. The snow was not too deep here, and anyway, his paw prints would add to the effect. With no time to lose, he marked his instantly recognisable scent on as many trees as possible to divert a seething Pierre, who would be livid at his audacity.

‘Sorry to break up the little romance, Pierre,’ grinned Henri with satisfaction, ‘But all’s fair in love and all that. Anyway, that should keep you busy for a while. Right! I need to get a move on or Gascon will be wondering where I am. Let’s hope he’s not done a runner.’

Suddenly anxious at the thought, he rushed back to the bakery as quickly as his legs could carry him and was relieved to find the door left open. Scanning the kitchen for signs of life, Henri’s first intention was to raid the larder, but fortune was obviously smiling on him today, as the coast was clear, and the remains of the evening meal was still on the table. He really must impress on Gascon the bonus of living in a village is the plentiful supply of food, when you know how to get it! Purring with relief at the ease of his mission, he sprang onto the table and dragged the remains of a sizeable ham bone to the floor. In his hurry to be off, the weighty joint collided with the table leg, causing a couple of the glasses to topple into each other, making a very audible clash.

‘Careful, Henri, more haste less speed,’ he warned himself sternly, hardly daring to breathe.

Anticipating footsteps, he made a frantic effort to conceal himself and the heavy bone by quickly dragging it to a place of safety under the dresser to await signs of investigation.

‘Phew, all clear,’ he gasped, panting heavily from the exertion. Just as he was contemplating how to get the unwieldy bone back to the den without drawing unwanted attention, the sound of barking erupted outside as a group of local dogs were making sport of a passing cat, chasing it up one of the plane trees that fringed the village square. As luck would have it, within all the clamour and howling, Henri could hear a distinctive voice remonstrating with the dogs to stop their silly antics. After checking that the coast was still clear, he rushed to the door and called out quietly to his friend.

‘Quick, Auguste, over here,’ he hissed. ‘I need your help urgently to get this bone back to the den.’

The terrier immediately appraised the situation, eyeing the ham bone with admiration.

‘It’s going to be a risky business with all this going on,’ he warned, taking immediate charge.

‘But on second thoughts,’ he reconsidered, ‘all the hullabaloo might be a blessing in disguise.’

He gestured for Henri to jump onto the table and grab what was left of a string of Toulouse sausage, with the intention of using them to create a diversion. Poor Henri was absolutely ravenous by now and had already earmarked them for his own supper, but respecting the terrier’s better judgement, the dutiful cat readily dismissed that particular avenue of pleasure from his mind.

‘Okay, old chap,’ he agreed somewhat reluctantly. ‘I suppose they will make an irresistible smoke screen. You’re always so full of bright ideas, Auguste,’ he remarked dryly.

‘Well I do sometimes get them, old fellow,’ preened the terrier in self-congratulation, blissfully unaware that his friend was pulling his leg. ‘Right then, Henri,’ he motioned, ‘You distract the dogs by rushing off in the opposite direction with the sausages. I’m bigger than you, so it’s easier for me to carry the bone back to the den by myself.’

‘Piece of cake, Auguste,’ whooped an overexcited Henri. ‘You do your bit and I’ll divert the dogs’ attention and then give them the slip. With any luck I might able to save the sausage,’ he added as an afterthought, still holding onto a glimmer of hope for supper.

‘Okay, Henri,’ signalled Auguste, bracing himself for the task. ‘I’m ready when you are. Go for it.’

Their steps immediately faltered at the unwelcome appearance of a villager who had wandered out into the cold to investigate the loud disturbance coming from the square.

‘Oh blow me over!’ exclaimed the exasperated cat, all revved up for action. This hold-up was the last thing Henri needed. He was acutely aware that time was running out before Pierre returned from his wild goose chase. The disappearing sausage and ham were also part of his larger plan to drop Pierre well and truly in it. He deserved some payback for all the sly underhand things he’d done to him. But for his crafty plan to succeed, Henri knew that he must be well out of the way in order that the blame for the missing food was laid squarely at the door of his arch enemy. He looked on with growing impatience until he could bear it no longer.

‘Oh, come on, Auguste,’ he burst out. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

The two unlikely heroes launched themselves into the barking throng, each going their separate way. Henri tore off across the square taking the boisterous dogs by surprise, with the sausages trailing havoc as they caught the irresistible smell of meat. Auguste, meanwhile, had created his own tactical advantage by directing the villager’s attention towards his sudden and unaccountably overturned bin. With the coast clear at last, he made his getaway down a quiet alley, clasping the large bone in his jaws. It was heavy going for the old terrier, but he was first back at the den, feeling breathless, but exhilarated by the adventure.

‘Worked like a dream, just like the old days,’ he thought, chuckling to himself. ‘If ever life gets boring you can always rely on Henri,’ he grinned, drawing a deep satisfied breath. Auguste’s immediate concern now was to get the bone out of sight. He silently eased it just inside the entrance to the den venturing no further down the passage. It wasn’t long before his accomplice arrived, collapsing in a heap on the ground, annoyed with himself and full of apology for having sacrificed the sausage to the dogs in order to put them off the trail.

‘Oh, couldn’t be helped,’ Auguste waved dismissively. ‘Good stuff old comrade. Thought for a minute we might be in trouble back there, but ‘He Who Dares’ in this instance, has won a very substantial supper!’

Henri ached all over, but at last he heaved himself up smiling at Auguste’s jubilation. ‘Well it certainly was no picnic back there,’ he admitted, ‘But that’s what I call teamwork. Credit where it’s due old fellow, couldn’t have done it without you,’ he purred with admiration.

‘Oh it was nothing,’ grunted Auguste, suddenly uncomfortable with all the praise. ‘Gascon must be missing you by now,’ he prompted. ‘So what comes next?’

‘Well, I was counting on us being in this together from now on old pal?’ replied Henri, raising a hopeful eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that he’s a needy cause once I get him to meet you?’

‘You know you can count me in,’ answered Auguste rather testily, venting his exasperation. His offer to help was already a forgone conclusion as far as he was concerned. ‘Come on then,’ he urged abruptly, ‘Why don’t you go in first and check things out. We can only hope that he’s still here.’

Henri entered the den anticipating the worst. He’d half expected that Gascon would have gone by now after being left alone so long. He cautiously approached the inner room calling out softly to the old dog. Receiving no answer, all his fears were confirmed, Gascon had run away.

‘Oh no, I knew it,’ he wailed, furious with himself. ‘I should have known that the poor terrified creature would be overcome with fear after all this time.’ Feeling utterly despondent, he was just about to go and report the sad news to Auguste when a slight movement in the corner of the room caught his eye.

‘Over here, Henri,’ Gascon’s hesitant voice came from out of the shadows as he recognised the cat’s scent. He’d gone into hiding in deepest recesses of the room to avoid any possibility of detection.

‘Oh Gascon, thank goodness you’re still here,’ Henri cried with relief. ‘I’m so sorry to leave you alone like this. I didn’t mean to be gone so long, but things got rather complicated.’

‘That’s okay, no one came in and I’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet,’ Gascon replied meekly.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Immediately Henri had gone, the old hound’s nerves overwhelmed him once again, leaving him struggling with the dilemma of being in such close proximity to people. ‘Suppose someone came in?’ he’d worried inwardly. He would be trapped, and yet he knew that it could make matters worse if he were to run. He’d had to face the harsh truth, that choices for a lost and nervous dog were very limited.

‘Listen, Gascon, I’m sorry to spring this on you,’ said Henri cautiously, ‘A good friend of mine helped me to get our supper back here tonight. It was nothing short of a triumph,’ he added proudly, ‘But it would have been impossible without him. His name is Auguste. He’s also an old hunting dog, so it’s just possible that he might recognise you. He’s outside now guarding the food. Honestly, Gascon, he’s as sound as a bell. He’d do anything for anybody,’ he added. ‘Do you think you could bring yourself to meet him? No pressure, he’ll understand if you’re not ready, he’s not one to impose.’

To his surprise, instead of his usual caution, Gascon looked soberly at Henri. The ageing hound had come to trust the judgement of this kindly cat who had so generously opened his doors to him.

‘If he’s a trusted friend of yours it’s okay with me, Henri, and, as you say, he might know where to find my own pack.’ Poor Gascon was doing his best to make light of things for Henri’s sake. No one would guess how agonising the prospect of meeting Auguste was for him.

‘Well, if you’re absolutely sure. We’ll keep it short and sweet for now and then get down to a slap-up supper. How does that sound?’ The cat’s smile was warm and encouraging.

Gascon’s courage wavered for a moment, hoping that he wasn’t inviting a new source of trouble.

‘Er… yes, that’s alright by me,’ he muttered almost inaudibly.

Sensing the hound’s confidence starting to wane, Henri made for the exit without another word.

‘Shake a leg Auguste,’ he whispered urgently. ‘He’s agreed to meet you, but let's take it easy,’ he cautioned anxiously. ‘Remember, all he needs for now is the listening approach.’

‘Yes, don’t worry, old chap,’ assured Auguste. ‘You just leave it to me.’

Henri smiled. ‘There goes my shy retiring friend,’ he mouthed noiselessly behind the terrier’s receding back. Yet for all his bluster, Henri knew Auguste to be the kindest and most reliable of councillors. Rarely taking offence, he had the knack of blending his generosity of spirit with solid practicality. Braced for the task ahead, the two allies edged cautiously into the dim light of the den.

Gascon, meanwhile, had retreated to the safety of his hiding place behind the barrel in the corner.

His hackles rose involuntarily as the two animals came into view through the gloom. Taking his lead from Henri, Auguste sat down at a respectful distance, reading the signs of disquiet fleeting across the old hound’s face. Henri hurriedly performed the introductions.

‘Gascon, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Auguste. He helped me bring home the bacon for tonight’s supper, if you’ll forgive the pun.’

‘Hello, Gascon,’ Auguste ventured quietly, ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

‘No, I’m pleased to meet a fellow hunting hound, Auguste. Henri said you might recognise me and help me find my pack, although I look nothing like them at the moment,’ he apologised solemnly.

As with Henri, Auguste took in the staring ribs poking through the hound’s skinny, bedraggled frame and the deep despair evident in his eyes at finding himself in such a hopeless predicament.

‘Don’t worry, Gascon. Anyone would be done in after all you’ve endured recently,’ he assured him firmly. Long experience had taught the terrier how precarious life out in the forest could be.

‘It takes a lot of courage and resourcefulness surviving from hand to mouth in the mountains.

How long do you think you’ve been out there?’ he asked gently, trying to assess the situation.

A weary shudder ran through the old dog at being asked to give yet another account of his ordeal.

‘I couldn’t say for certain,’ he replied gloomily, ‘I seem to have been on the move for a long time. I’ve stopped in a few villages on the way to find food and escape the cold. I thought sleeping in a different place every night would avoid drawing attention to myself, but, no matter how hard I tried to cover my tracks, there was nowhere else to turn in the end. I always had to head out into the forest again.’

Auguste had been holding on to the possibility that Gascon was a relatively local hound who’d simply got lost by going round in circles within the labyrinth of forest pathways, but this was not the case. Despite his dirt-streaked coat covering no more than skin and bone, Auguste could tell from the hound’s short dappled black and white fur that Gascon was not a recognisable breed thereabouts. The look of him and his gentle manner suggested to Auguste that he was used to living in one of the larger hunting packs he’d only heard tell of. He realised that the news would come as a disappointment to the old dog’s hopes.

‘From what you’ve said, Gascon,’ he proceeded gently, ‘I can tell that you’re not from these parts, but don’t be despondent, all is not lost. I’ll ask around and get back to you as soon as I can.

Oh, by the way,’ enquired the terrier, keeping his tone casual to disguise the pressing question, ‘where will you be if I do come up with something?’

‘Here, if Henri will have me?’ said Gascon, glancing shyly at the cat. ‘That’s if I’m not imposing?’

The two friends exchanged a satisfied glance for shrewdly drawing out the answer they most wanted to hear.

‘You’re more than welcome anytime, Gascon,’ beamed Henri. ‘We run a very informal ship here.

Just come and go as you please. Look on it as a holiday. Come on, Auguste, help me convince him,’ he added, warming to his theme.

Auguste rolled his eyes, smiling indulgently at his friend. ‘Well, that’s one way of looking at it I suppose, but let’s not get carried away at the moment, Henri,’ he cautioned, noticing that the hound was shifting uneasily. ‘I really should be on my way and let you two get on with your supper. It’s a pleasure to have met you, Gascon, and I hope to bring you some good news soon.’

Touched by Auguste’s genuine concern and offer of practical help, Gascon looked directly at his new friend for the first time and nodded his thanks. To his own amazement, he’d taken an instant liking to the terrier, as Henri had promised.

‘It’s good of you to bother, Auguste, and thank you for the supper,’ replied the old hound gratefully.

‘No problem at all. You’re among friends now, Gascon. We do what we can for each other.’

‘Yes, All for One and One for All. That’s our motto, what do you say, Auguste,’ gushed Henri, continuing the light-hearted banter. ‘See you soon, old chap.’ he called to the terrier’s receding back. ‘And let's have all the gossip when we see you again,’ he added, still feigning high spirits.

Henri followed his friend down the corridor, immediately dropping all pretence at mirth. ‘Well all things considered, I think that went alright,’ he whispered seriously. ‘What do you make of him, Auguste?’ he asked concerned.

‘Well, for a start, he definitely needs a rest from his wanderings,’ his friend stated flatly. ‘He’s such a desperately skinny fellow and just about fit to drop,’ he tutted, clearly dismayed at the sight. ‘It’s going to take some sound reasoning to persuade him not to move on just yet. We mustn’t over do it though,’ he advised. ‘Just let him take his own time.’

The cat nodded in agreement. Good old Auguste, he always thought of everything. Henri quickly made his way back into the den dragging the bone. When he returned, he wasn’t surprised to see Gascon’s head drooping with fatigue, but to his relief the irresistible smell of fresh meat rallied his senses. The desperate appetite for food had lost none of its novelty for Gascon. Aware that the cat had probably not had time to eat all day, the old hound politely hung back allowing his host to make the first move before taking his own share.

‘Well, don’t just sit there, Gascon, tuck in,’ Henri urged, hospitably as ever.

‘Thanks, Henri,’ he replied, savouring the prospect of another glorious feast. After throwing the cat a look of pure gratitude, he made no further protest before reaching out for a substantial share of the bone. Supper was a happy meal. The new friends ate their food together in companionable silence, nodding appreciatively at each other from time to time relishing the succulent spread.

After a while, with his own hunger finally satisfied the fastidious old cat began his nightly grooming routine. Feeling agreeably full for the first time in ages, Gascon watched his friend in fascination. He found his own tired mind and muscles gradually relaxing to rhythm of the soft hypnotic circles made by Henri’s paws as he preened his whiskers.

‘Don’t mind me, Gascon,’ purred Henri, looking serene as carried out his evening toilette. ‘Just relax and make yourself at home.’

What a rapturous evening it was for Gascon who had never known kindness such as this. With Henri on guard, he even felt safe enough to lie flat out on his side, extending his tired, aching legs in a long sinewy stretch before curling up and tucking his front paws under his chin. He lay basking drowsily in the warm glow of previously unimaginable luxury, marvelling at the changing fortunes of the day.

‘You can’t go on spoiling me like this, Henri,’ he murmured sleepily. ‘I hope you’ll allow me to take on some responsibility for finding food. If I’m to stay on, even just for a short while, I must do something to help.’

The cat knew that Gascon’s pride was at stake here and that his contribution to help and participate in village life would significantly affect his decision to stay.

‘Okay, Gascon, but let’s not think about that just yet,’ he coaxed gently, not wanting to spoil the joy of the evening. ‘You’re my guest and under no obligation. I’ve never felt so at home here and having some company is wonderful. It gives me strength and purpose and that’s more than enough for now. Come on, old chap, I don’t know about you, but I’m all in. What do you say.

Time for lights out?’

Chapter Three Henri slept lightly while keeping watch over the hound, and woke up early as the first light of dawn penetrated the gloom of the passage. Gascon slumbered on, having passed a restless night, his legs twitching and running in his sleep before his body finally became still and heavy with exhaustion.

Presently he opened his eyes, tensing instinctively at the strangeness of his surroundings, but finding the kindly cat calmly watching over him, his body slumped with relief.

‘Good morning, Gascon,’ Henri greeted him cheerfully. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Much better,’ yawned the hound, stretching luxuriously. ‘Stronger than I’ve felt in ages thanks.’

He was in much better spirits now for all the kind attention that had been lavished on him.

‘Well, now you’re awake, I should be going about my daily business for a short while if you don’t mind,’ said Henri brightly. ‘Feel free to go out and explore. Just come and go as you please,’ he added, not wanting the old hound to think he was being treated as an invalid.

‘Must press on,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Oh, by the way, you can leave today’s menu to me,’ he chuckled. ‘I’m already working on it.’

Henri’s confidence was infectious, and, now that Gascon was feeling refreshed and quite buoyant, he decided to venture outside before the village was stirring. There had been precious little time to see much of the place before he was discovered yesterday, but he’d need to know the layout, plus the villager’s routines, if he was going to help find food. Crouching low and checking that no one had seen him leave the den, he padded very cautiously down the first alleyway hugging the shadows. It was an unlikely hour for people to be about yet, but his mind was on high alert ready to duck out of sight should anyone appear. He knew that he would not be welcome here. So far, villagers had shown him little or no charity and even their animals were hostile to an outsider.

For a little while now, the sharp eyes of a large black tom cat returning from his nightly hunt had spied Gascon’s progress in the shadows. He happened to be Pierre’s best friend and yet another one of nature’s bullies. As Gascon inadvertently turned onto his patch, the cat sidled up silently from behind and cornered him.

‘Hi there, you’re new around here,’ he drawled casually. ‘Are you visiting or just passing through?’ he baited, smiling inwardly at the dog’s obvious agitation.

Gascon staggered, taken aback at being caught unaware, ‘Oh, er, hello. Well, a bit of both actually,’ he spluttered evasively, trying desperately to recover his composure. ‘I’m visiting friends in the area,’ he blustered, hoping to throw the cat off the scent.

The cat’s hard intelligent eyes took in the ragged, mud-streaked coat. ‘It’s hardly the weather for

sight-seeing,’ he goaded, not deceived for a minute.

Gascon quailed inwardly under such intense scrutiny, gripped with fear at the alarming thought that the cat had seen him leaving the den. ‘You’re not wrong there,’ he replied, forcing a laugh.

‘Well, I mustn’t keep you standing out here in the cold. Nice to meet you,’ he called out, already distancing himself from the cat’s suspicious gaze as he spoke.

Trying not to look as ruffled as he felt, the old hound continued down the alleyway on trembling legs, desperately resisting a backward glance to see if the creature was following him.

When he thought he was out of sight, he crept behind a little stone fountain standing close to a wall and hid there to gather his scattered wits. He had to admit that encounter with the cat had badly shaken his fragile confidence, but, with the early morning drawing on, Gascon knew that he had to make a move before village life got underway. He slunk away, provoked into action by a sense of righteous indignation, his pride smarting at being caught off guard.

‘I can’t keep on letting these things get to me if I’m going to be any use to myself, let alone anyone else. Courage, mon brave,’ he urged, steeling himself with grim determination.

He moved on through the winding alleyways, mentally registering the street plan for future use.

The roads all branched out from a central square, which was the meeting point for the villagers, who regularly congregated there to play a game of boules and hold a weekly market under the shade of the trees. The layout of the little medieval village had remained largely unchanged since the thirteenth century. The weatherworn houses were mostly built from golden limestone, some half-timbered, others rendered in soft peeling ochre. They all were modest and varied in size, yet shared the same gentle sloping roof tops covered in the characteristic orange pantiles of the region.

Gascon clung to the shadows on his return journey through the ancient alleys, trusting his nose to guide him back to the den.

Suddenly a door creaked open and, without warning, what appeared to be a handful of tiny biscuits was scattered on the ground before him, swiftly followed by a chorus of yapping dogs.

The usually mild-mannered hound instinctively growled his defence at this unexpected ambush, which drew an even noisier reply from the little creatures.

Intent on quietening the pandemonium, their owner came rushing outside to find Gascon inadvertently standing in the middle of his pets’ morning treat. Taking in the old hound’s scrawny, bedraggled appearance, the villager immediately jumped to his own conclusions, assuming that a stray hound was attacking his dogs and stealing their food.

‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing, you dirty thief,’ he bawled, shaking his fist at Gascon. ‘Go on, get away,’ he added. ‘If I see you hanging around my dogs again there’ll be big trouble.’

To reinforce his threat, the ageing villager bent down to pick up a large stone, and raising his arm above his shoulder, hurled it at the hound. Poor Gascon, shocked, but no longer surprised by this level of hostility, shot well out of reach, pursued by the trail of small yapping terriers. He eventually outran them, stopping at a safe distance to look back. Breathing heavily, he knew that it would always come to this, he just hadn’t the ability to blend into village life. The expedition had done nothing to bolster his confidence. Rather, it had reinforced his fears. At this moment though, with his nerves in shreds, he was full of gratitude to have a warm and safe retreat, at least for the night. He continued on, treading cautiously through the network of tiny alleyways, heaving a sigh of relief to have found his way back to the den.

After checking that he hadn’t been seen, Gascon ducked quickly into the safety of the long passage. Henri had already returned when he got back. As promised, the food supplies for the day were in the middle of the floor. It had taken two trips to secure enough food for them both, but, with his cunning mixture of cheek and ingenuity, Henri had procured a delicious selection of meaty edibles. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the old hound had ventured outside in his absence and feeling worn out with his own exertions, the cat sank down patiently awaiting his return.

As soon as Gascon appeared, the droop of his shoulders told Henri that the trip out hadn’t gone well.

‘Hi Gascon, glad to see you decided to go out,’ he smiled, keeping his tone casual ‘How did it go?’

‘Not too bad,’ replied Gascon evasively. ‘It’s a bit of a maze out there. Must take some getting used to,’ he mumbled, averting his eyes.

‘Yes, it’s still a work in progress for me,’ Henri replied conversationally, ‘but then I usually stick to the same old routes. Well, I bet you’ve worked up an appetite. What about a bit of breakfast?’

The anxiety of the morning had certainly given Gascon an appetite, but his badly dented confidence made him feel even more ashamed to be continually imposing on Henri’s unstinting generosity.

‘Thanks again, Henri. I don’t know how you do it,’ he said shaking his head, embarrassed to admit that he was ravenous again. ‘One day I promise I’ll show my gratitude in more than words.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it, Gascon, honestly! You must have noticed that we animals around town have slightly “alternative” ideas when it comes to ownership,’ he said with his mischievous wink. ‘That’s how we’ve learned to get by. You’ll soon pick it up. That reminds me, didn’t Auguste say that he might drop by to give us the latest on his findings. Come on old boy, I think our table is ready. Let’s eat up just in case.’

The new friends tucked eagerly into the delicious spread of sausages and scraps that Henri had managed to gather on his travels. Breakfast was demolished with such relish that the gentle yelp

coming from the outer passage was barely audible over the noise of their lip-smacking appreciation.

Gascon was first to catch the unfamiliar sound, alerting Henri by the twitch of his ears. The cat was already on the ground arching his back with his tail held high and bristling with indignation.

Being unsure what to expect, he moved stealthily towards the entrance, ready in an instant to pounce on any unwelcome encroachment into his den.

Poor Auguste, unprepared for this full-frontal attack staggered backwards aghast.

‘Good grief, Henri, is that you? You scared me half to death looking all puffed up like that. I certainly wouldn’t want to meet you down a dark alley,’ he gasped, looking ruffled and shaken.

He had never seen this side of Henri and was not sure whether to be impressed or alarmed by his friend’s potential ferocity.

‘Oh, it’s only you, Auguste,’ grumbled Henri, sounding slightly disappointed. ‘Sorry about that. I just had a feeling that Gascon might have been followed back from his trip out this morning.

He’s putting on a brave face, but from the look of him something definitely happened,’ he confided in a low voice. ‘There’s every reason to believe that Pierre and his slippery gang of spies are involved. I wouldn’t put anything past them. That mean cat is bent on mischief and will go to any lengths to discover the only safe place I’ve got left.’

‘Oh, that’s rotten luck for Gascon,’ Auguste replied in a voice filled with concern. ‘The last thing he needs just now is to feel surrounded by danger. It certainly won’t have done anything to boost his confidence. Do you think he’s up to a visit?’

‘Yes, I mentioned that you might call in,’ Henri replied. ‘Any news of his whereabouts?’

‘I’m afraid not, but I’ve had an idea that might persuade him to stay around for a while longer.’

‘Well let’s go easy, Auguste,’ cautioned his friend. ‘He’s going to need a gentle hand just now.’

Henri led the way back into the den, calling quietly to Gascon that Auguste had come to visit.

The old hound was impatient to see his new friend again, searching his face with hopeful eyes, eager for any news. Not one to mince his words, Auguste tackled the subject in question head on.

‘I’ve nothing to report just now, Gascon,’ he declared immediately. ‘But it’s still early days,’ he added quickly, keeping things positive. ‘I’ll continue asking around, but, in the meantime I’ve got an idea, that’s if you’d be prepared to consider accepting some help from an old brother hunter?’

Gascon had a good idea where this was heading. Ashamed of having already convinced himself in advance that the safest thing was to move on, he attempted to forestall Auguste, refusing his kind offer with a sinking heart.

‘That’s more than kind, Auguste,’ he began, ‘And I’ll never be able to thank you enough as it is, but…’

‘Just hear me out, Gascon,’ the terrier interrupted impatiently, letting his nerves get the better of him in his concern to protect the old hound from himself. Persuasive reasoning had been critical to the success of his plan, and he fumed inwardly at getting off to such a bad start. ‘I’m very sorry, Gascon,’ he apologised earnestly, making a determined effort to recover his self-control, ‘At least let me explain.’

‘I was going to suggest, that, until you build up your strength, I could put it about the village that you’re visiting my master. You could bed down with Henri, but come around with me and I’ll show you the ropes. If we stick to that story it will give you some protection until you find your feet.’

Even before he answered, Gascon’s manner had become guarded. The two friends read the evidence of the morning’s unnerving encounter with the locals reflected in the hound’s anguished eyes.

‘I don’t want to sound ungrateful,’ he apologised, ‘but only today I had yet another reminder that I’m simply not cut out to live under every one’s noses. Please believe me, it’s best for us all that I move on.’ Gascon knew that even if they persuaded him to stay, and he was sorely tempted, what then? He’d be just another mouth to feed when food was short enough.

‘But where will you go?’ wailed Henri, ‘On to yet another unfriendly village? Oh Gascon, how long can you go on living from hand to mouth? You’re not cut out to live in the wild. Why do you think I’ve stayed here?’ Henri jumped down from his ledge in the corner, pacing the floor in his agitation.

‘Auguste, think of something. Help me convince him of the dangers,’ he appealed to his friend.

‘Okay, let’s look at this logically,’ Auguste obliged with his no-nonsense approach.

‘Remember that you’re still malnourished from your travels, Gascon, and the weather will be turning even colder soon. It’s madness to go courting disaster, wandering about in the cold day and night without food and shelter. You’ll die out there.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve managed before,’ Gascon assured them. ‘I’ll find an empty shed or something.’

‘You’re not listening, Gascon,’ cried Henri. ‘Be realistic, this is wintertime in the Pyrenees, not the Cote d’Azur. Wait at least until the snow has gone,’ he pleaded.

Gascon looked down at the floor apologetically, his shoulders sagging, unable to meet their gaze.

‘Think about it, Gascon,’ persisted Auguste, appealing for sanity in a voice tight with concern.

‘You’re not equipped to survive life on the road. It’s red in tooth and claw out there. Only wild animals can weather those cruel elements, so what chance is there for a defenceless old dog,’ he concluded with brutal honesty.

Gascon turned an offended gaze on his friend, his injured pride provoking him into having his say.

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern, Auguste,’ he insisted. ‘This is the best place I’ve ever known and there’s nothing I want more than to stay here amongst friends, but, as I’ve already explained, very recent experience has shown me that a stray dog will always be driven out in the end.’

Auguste was ashamed not to have credited the old hound with such stout determination.

‘I beg your pardon, Gascon, I had no right to say that,’ he apologised profusely, still feeling shaken by the loss of his own usual imperturbable composure, ‘I can see now that it’s not up to us to determine your future.’ He keenly regretted having dented Gascon’s pride and wished he could take back his words, and say what he could, nothing would dissuade his friend from taking the next disastrous step.

Feeling utterly downcast, Henri quietly signalled for Auguste to follow him out of the den, giving Gascon time to recover. ‘Oh Auguste, we’re losing our boy,’ he moaned. ‘There’s got to be more we can do. You can see how quickly he tires under stress, what chance has he got in the wild?’

‘I’m afraid that his mind is made up,’ replied Auguste flatly. ‘We’ll just have to admit that for valid reasons of his own, Gascon is not open to persuasion.’

‘Well, if we can’t change his mind, we can at least be practical,’ cried Henri, firming his resolve.

‘What do you say to feeding him up to see him on his way?

‘Brilliant idea, Henri,’ enthused Auguste, doing his best to make amends. ‘He can have my best meaty bone for supper tonight. I’ll go and get it now and anything else I can find and leave it in the corridor. Then if you don’t mind, old chap, ‘he blustered, shifting about awkwardly to hide the pain of parting, ‘I think our goodbyes will be better coming from you.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right, Auguste,’ Henri agreed at once, sparing the terrier’s feelings with instinctive delicacy. His tender-hearted friend was never at his best in emotional situations.

‘And don’t you worry, I’ll make sure we give him a good send off,’ he called reassuringly.

The two champions disappeared in their separate directions. Auguste rushed one way to recover the bone, but first Henri doubled back to make his hasty excuses to an already drooping Gascon.

Panicking that there was so little time left to spend with his friend made Henri reckless.

Throwing caution to the wind, he flew around his favourite takeaways, rustling up as much food as he could for a slap-up supper, while reserving the best bits for morning. Creeping back into the den, he found Gascon sound asleep. It had been quite a day for everyone, so he was glad of a brief moment of peace to sit quietly watching over the old dog for the last time. It was getting on when Gascon woke up with his usual anxious start. Henri greeted him with his warm gentle reassurance, that weighed the old hound down with deep sadness to be deserting this kindhearted cat.

‘That’s good timing, old boy,’ he announced, more brightly than he felt. ‘Supper’s just about ready.’

He’d already retrieved the bone Auguste had left in the corridor, and placed it, with some of his own hastily assembled booty, within easy reach of them both to share their last meal together in comfort.

‘Sorry, Henri, I must have slept for hours, leaving all the work to you again,’ groaned Gascon apologetically to the generous cat, who he knew was putting on a brave face.

‘Goes to show that you probably needed it,’ replied Henri, still doing his best to lighten the mood of melancholy. ‘Come on then let’s get stuck in. I think we’re both going to need an early night,’ he added, forcing a smile.

The friends settled down to supper, each lost in their own dismal thoughts. Despite the delicious meal, appetites were bound to be low, but Henri roused himself to show some interest in the food hoping that Gascon would follow suit. The old hound got the message and smiled inwardly at the cat’s unflagging concern.

‘Please don’t take my leaving to heart, Henri,’ he said, in an effort to ease the sorrow that hung between them. No one has been more of a friend to me, but the plain fact is that all these new comings and goings are bound to betray your secret bolt hole sooner or later.’

‘Life won’t be the same without you, Gascon,’ Henri wailed mournfully. ‘It’s going to be so lonely here again when you’ve gone. I’ve loved having you stay.’

‘Well, you’re not to worry about me, Henri. All things considered I’ve been more than lucky meeting you when I couldn’t have gone on much longer. Somehow, if ever I can,’ avowed the hound with fervent conviction, ‘I will find a way to make it up to you.’

‘There’s no charge, Gascon,’ replied Henri, with simple sincerity, deeply touched by the old hound’s passionate outburst. ‘You’ve made my life so much more tolerable in the time you’ve been here.’

The old hound groped for words and failed, feeling wretched to be leaving his friend to such a dismal existence. The dog and cat exchanged a last sad glance, each taking their silent leave of the other before settling down for as much sleep that anxiety would allow.

Chapter Four Gascon planned to leave at first light. He awoke with a heavy heart, already feeling lonely and adrift.

‘They’ll be sorry to see me go, but too much soft living won’t help me out there in the wild,’ he whispered to himself, as he slipped silently from the little room that was already beginning to feel like home. Creeping quietly down the dark corridor leading outside, he almost tripped over the strategically placed doggy bag left by Henri and Auguste to ensure that he had a good meal for the journey. Gascon felt humbled by yet another thoughtful gesture so freely given. Knowing that this would be the last food he would not have to hunt for himself, he devoured every last scrap with a deep sense of urgency. The weather had turned bitingly cold as the old dog headed out once again into the gusting wind. He turned his face into the swirling snow, gazing up towards the soaring white wilderness, reliving again the grief of abandonment he felt on that first day a month ago.

Gascon was the first to admit that he didn’t know which way to turn. He was setting out with no plan or destination in mind, other than deciding not to retrace his steps, still clinging on to some haphazard idea of picking up a familiar scent over in the next valley.

‘Auguste was right, I should have thought this through before setting off again in this perishing cold,’ he muttered to himself, now suddenly brought face to face with the gravity of his situation.

For a wild moment, his longing for the safety of the den overwhelmed him. Was it worth pitting himself against perils of another kind just to be away from humans again? His inner voice firmly refused to weigh his chances of survival in his desperation to believe that it was.

‘Well, what am I waiting for?’ he cried, impatiently avoiding the grim reality. ‘Time I was on my way.’

He set off purposefully, following one of the thickly wooded tracks that zigzagged steeply upwards through the forested slopes.

‘At least it’s out of the wind,’ he observed, in a feeble effort to bolster his confidence, ‘Although what I’ll find up there is a risk I'll just have to take!’ After a laborious couple of hours, the punishing skyward climb was taking its toll on his weakened body. ‘I have to admit that my legs are not what they were,’ he panted. ‘I thought I could get over into the next valley easily before dark, but I’m not sure that I can make the top tonight.’

Once a tireless hunter, the old dog was finding the going hard on such rocky terrain. As he climbed higher the vegetation was becoming sparse. The straggling fir trees were now giving way to stunted box trees and large areas of bare rock offering little or no cover. Quite unexpectedly, towards noon, the sky began to clear, revealing some shy but welcome sunshine to thaw the chill air. After a quick safety check around him, Gascon breathed deeply for the first time that day, scrambling clumsily up a series of stone slabs leading onto a rocky outcrop, glad to stretch out his aching body on a big flat rock that was warming up nicely in the sunshine. He lay there for some time with his nose resting on his paws, savouring the warm reviving heat. Despite

all his anxieties, in this commanding position, the old hound could not help feeling exhilarated by the freedom of the open space spanning mile upon mile across the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. He was so engrossed in the scene before him that it was a shock to find himself suddenly aware of dark shadows silently gliding around in the sky above him.

‘VULTURES!’ He immediately sprang to his feet to show them that he was alive and kicking, just as a group of ten or more vultures, descending from the thermal mountain updraughts, began circling around him with interest.

‘Oh my,’ he gasped. ‘I should have remembered to be more watchful in such an exposed place, especially at this time of day. I know vultures can spot things from miles away, but they normally only eat carcasses of animals that are already dead,’ he reasoned, feeling puzzled.

Gascon had seen these birds, with their enormous 2.80-metre wingspan, many times before, but usually from the safety of forest cover. Now exposed in the open, their undoubted curiosity made him nervous. They were certainly interested in something located around that spot, and, as they began spiralling down, rapidly closing the distance towards the ground, he wasn’t hanging around as prospective lunch. He made a split-second decision that the least terrifying option would be to meet his end from the fall, rather than being pecked to death by a bunch of squawking vultures.

Recklessly ignoring the near vertical drop, in one stupendous bound, he plunged over a precipice into a yawning chasm, bouncing onto solid ground with considerable force. Amazed to be alive, let alone still in one piece, his death-defying leap into the abyss had been broken by landing on one of the jagged shelves protruding from the vertical rock face. Trembling with shock, Gascon pressed his body tightly against the cliff wall to find himself outside a cave entrance. The chamber wasn’t large, but just deep enough to lie down and recover his jangled nerves in safety.

‘Whoo! That was too close for comfort, old man,’ he told himself severely. ‘Those birds are still flying low so there must be food around somewhere, but for a minute there I thought it was me on the menu.’

Griffon vultures are large raptors, or birds of prey, native to the Pyrenees in France and Spain, nesting in the cavities of steep cliffs and crags. They are predominantly scavengers and rely on food by scouting domestic herds in the high pastures. Hunting in groups, they scour the alpine meadows for carcasses of livestock, adapting their seasonal search in keeping with the pastoral way of life, by following the herds and flocks as they are moved from summer to winter grazing.

They range across huge expanses of territory and it’s not unusual for a large flock of birds to suddenly home in from miles away when they spy a piece of carrion. Their circling behaviour in the sky sparks off a signalling process, rapidly attracting a host of watching vultures to a promising find.

From the safety of the cave mouth, Gascon could hear squabbling and squawking barely ten metres away on the rocks above, as the vultures noisily disputed fragments from a carcass of an

unfortunate goat that had tumbled halfway down the crag. Although they have no talons, vultures’ beaks are so well adapted to plucking and tearing, it takes only a few minutes for a group to pick a carcass clean. He knew that the situation could still be precarious, but the old hound heaved a sigh of relief to realise he had inadvertently gatecrashed a vulture banquet, instead of becoming dish of the day. Just as he ventured a cautious peep out, a dark shadow loomed overhead, as one of the birds, having had its fill, came lumbering down the rocks, flopping in a rustle of feathers onto one of the ledges not much lower than his hiding place.

Gascon had never seen a vulture at close range before, let alone standing upright.

‘Good grief,’ he hardly dared draw breath. ‘That thing is enormous. It must be over a metre tall.

It’s like some prehistoric creature from a lost world. I wouldn’t fancy my chances against that!

I’ll just have to keep my head down for a while and hope it doesn’t spot me.’ To his dismay, the vulture began settling down, relaxing back on its tail, spreading out and flexing its massive wings as if hanging them out to dry. Fortunately for Gascon, the ungainly creature had its back to him, giving him a spectacular view of its light brown plumage and black outstretched wings, tipped by a dark flight of feathers that looked like the fingers of a hand.

Endearingly, the head, that from a distance, had given the vulture its comic bald effect, he could see was covered with a soft, fluffy, white down, that continued on to the base of its long neck, to a collar of white feathers. Without any notice and gloriously unaware of its audience, the vulture threw in an unexpected party trick, suddenly withdrawing its entire neck into the base of its white, feathery ruff, which immediately reduced its height by half. Gascon had to pinch himself to stop bursting out laughing at the odds of having a grandstand seat to witness the sweetly private antics of such a notoriously fearsome creature, quietly basking in the sunshine.

‘Whatever next?’ he chuckled weakly, anxiously debating how long it was all going to take. ‘I need to be getting on my way soon if I’m ever going to find some cover for the night,’ he sighed.

After an agonising wait, fretting about the daylight slipping away, there was a sudden shift of air, as the sky resounded with the take-off of one after another of the giant birds. Gascon had a ringside seat as his vulture friend, its body raised again to full stature, launched itself into midair, and was borne up and away on its sail like wings, into the updraught of the thermal currents.

Gascon was already tired and feeling rather unnerved by his extraordinary experience, but he knew that he must remain calm and practical in order to see the day out in safety.

‘Phew, that was a close call and it cost me time I haven’t got,’ he gasped. ‘I can’t afford to be caught napping again if I want to avoid ending up like the poor goat.’

With one crisis over, the old hound still found himself in a predicament, as his jump had landed him deep inside a gaping chasm where the ground fell away steeply to a perilous drop. He judged that he was about halfway down the wall of rock, and the only available route to get him onto the ground below, was by making considerable leaps downward onto a succession of stone stairs that had split off from the main structure. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he couldn’t stay where he was.

‘Okay, how to get down from here without wings?’ he grinned mirthlessly. ‘Who would have thought I’d be mountaineering today? Descending certainly looks more dangerous than climbing up, but I can’t just let gravity do the job.’

Peering down with his heart in his mouth, Gascon made the relatively shallow first leap to where the vulture had been standing. Even from this height he landed heavily, grazing his legs on contact with the hard surface, that knocked the breath out of his body.

‘So far so good,’ he muttered, breathing heavily.

Although bruised and battered, the old hound took courage from his modest success. The next jump down was far more difficult, not only being much lower, but also across a deep split in the rock. Acutely aware that this was make or break time, Gascon rapidly considered what was required of him. Then knowing that he couldn’t afford the luxury of hesitation, he sprang out with no attempt at gauging the distance. The gulf between was so alarming, that if he had stopped to think, it wouldn’t have happened at all. He jumped with such miscalculated force, that not only did he successfully land on the other side, but unable to stop, he carried on, skidding straight across and toppled over the far edge, nosediving into yet another vertical crack between the rocks.

With disaster looming Gascon prepared himself for impending death. ‘Courage, Gascon.

Goodbye cruel world,’ he yelled out, closing his eyes.

Miraculously, the funnel-like walls of this next cleft began to taper into dense green vegetation towards the bottom, which was thick enough to break the hound’s fall as he neared the ground.

After crashing through a forest of snatching branches, each mercifully slowing his descent, Gascon finally came to a teetering halt in a tangle of roots about three metres from the ground.

Hanging there, knocked almost senseless from the buffeting branches, he couldn’t believe that he was still alive and had escaped serious injury yet again.

‘That’s what I call a crash landing,’ he gasped, ‘But where in the world am I now?’

It took a moment or so to realise that he was still suspended some way from the ground. Looking down from where he lay in the branches, he could see the forest floor through the foliage. With his body sagging from the shock of it all, he started to thread his way through the intricate knot of branches, winding painfully in and out of the thicket of barbed roots and over bits of fallen debris, until suddenly, the bottom gave way, dumping him unceremoniously on a mossy green bed at the foot of the chasm.

‘Well, all things considered that’s more than I could ask for,’ he sighed with relief. ‘Let’s hope this teaches me something,’ he added, furious with himself for his carelessness.

With another crisis over, it was late afternoon by now and the sun had long past its height.

Gascon felt dazed and beaten, but he knew there was no time for brooding. The day was rapidly drawing on, bringing with it the threat of more snow. The light would be fading soon and he needed to be on his way. He knew there was little more he could do but find shelter, yet he still

lay where he fell, his body hunched in pain, wanting nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep.

‘Just let me get my breath back,’ he sighed, staring around miserably, thinking of the warm den he’d shared with Henri. ‘Oh, what am I doing here?’ He’d asked himself the same question again and again over the past month. ‘I truly am out of my depth,’ he cried.

Having only narrowly withstood such a near death experience, the strength to continue had now become as much a crisis of morale, as one of bravery for the old dog. Driven by the need to find shelter, it took a massive effort to recover his nerve, but, willing himself to go on, he set out once more in a generally upward direction, heading into the pouring rain that was beginning to turn to sleet.

‘Come on, Gascon,’ he reproached himself defiantly. ‘These little setbacks go with the territory.

You’re a survivor.’

Chapter Five ‘Must be easier places to be,’ he wheezed, as he toiled up the mountain slope, his starved frame woefully sodden. ‘Getting soaked to the skin won’t help if I can’t find some shelter,’ he fretted. ‘I’ll just have to press on while there’s still some light to guide me.’

There was still some way to go in order to get over into the next valley, and not enough time before dark. It was bitingly cold now the sun was setting. Plodding on wearily through the sparse scrub, Gascon was becoming increasingly anxious. He knew that he dared not rest out in the open, but finding somewhere to conceal himself wouldn’t be easy. He hadn’t been going long, however, when about twenty metres ahead, wet green tree tops rose up from what looked to be a cleft in the rocky terrain.

‘There must be water around there somewhere, and maybe a gully to hide in for the night?’ he thought hopefully.

As he neared the trees, he could hear the sound of rushing water, and was relieved to look down into a V-shaped cavity in the rock, its gently sloping sides furrowed out over millennia by the melting snows. Telltale paths forged through the vegetation leading down to the stream indicated obvious signs of animal life. Although Gascon was desperately thirsty, he approached with caution, peering down apprehensively into the gully, acutely aware that he would be encroaching into enemy territory. His presence here would not be welcome and could lead him into more trouble, but what choice was there? It was dark and damp beneath the dense swathe of low box trees that covered the bedrock, but, where the last shafts of daylight pierced the thick vegetation, glistening stars danced unseen over the rippling stream. In better circumstances, even Gascon could appreciate the beauty of this little oasis in such a remote and seldom visited place. With great trepidation he crept down silently towards a rock pool low in the wooded cleft, gulping gratefully to soak up the clear mountain water.

‘Oh, that’s fantastic,’ he sighed, glad to feel something in his stomach. ‘With all the problems of the day, I’d forgotten that I’ve not had a drink for hours. Well, it’s too late for anything else now,’ he recalled in sudden panic. ‘It’s just a matter of bedding down as quickly as possible for the night.’

Gascon had learned the hard way that it was better to avoid lurking near watering holes at night, knowing at his cost that when darkness fell, many of the forest creatures would come down to the stream foraging for food and drink.

‘Oh help, I can’t think straight any more,’ he wailed, his mind rigid with fear. ‘Wherever I choose is a gamble. I’ll just have to make do with any place I can find and hope for the best.’

Hungry and exhausted on a bitter winter’s night, with the freezing rain now turning to snow, the old hound was at the limit of his endurance. He scrambled lamely back up towards the ridge of the gully, hoping that he wouldn’t be claiming a spot where some local animal came to bed down. The disastrous events of the day had sapped his strength to the point of being unable to care.

Gascon hurriedly curled up under a low bush with just the bare rock beneath him, and buried his nose deeply under his tail. He lay there, sleepless, his mind still racing with anxious thoughts, listening deep into the night to the unseen sounds of the nocturnal forest residents coming out to feed. Surely it couldn’t be long before some inquisitive prowling nose discovered him.

Despite himself, exhaustion finally claimed him as he sank into a light wary sleep, that was soon to be interrupted by the sound of distant barking. Gascon blinked wearily in the early light of a new day, that at least held the promise of some watery sunshine. He was secretly amazed and grateful to have survived the night unmolested, and although he was still feeling very tired, his senses got caught up with an irresistible urge to join forces with the unmistakeable sound of baying hounds.

‘It’s coming from the over in the other valley,’ he gauged excitedly. ‘Okay, time to get back into the game, Gascon,’ he said firmly. ‘With any luck they could be hounds from my pack.’

A dog’s sense of smell is one thousand times stronger than that of humans and Gascon was still good. He knew that his nose could make up for any lack of speed. In his youth, he was always chosen as the ‘Limiere’ or sleuth hound; the hound trusted to sniff out ‘The Foot of the Night’.

This is the name given to the freshest scent of a deer or wild boar, often only a few hours old, sending the signal to the hunters that they’re on the right track. With every fibre of his body working on nothing more than instinct, Gascon kept up a brisk pace climbing skywards in the direction of the hunt. The terrain was even rockier and very loose in places the higher he went, bruising the pads of his paws as he clawed his way across banks of scree washed down by the melting snow. His old way of life was taking charge of every sinew, driving him onwards and upwards, bounding mindlessly across small clefts in the rock and hurtling through narrow gullies.

Suddenly, without realising, he had crested the mountain summit to be greeted by a soft breeze.

Pausing for breath and grateful to have made it over into the next valley, the very weary dog looked down onto a gently sweeping immensity of green. Although still in the high valleys of the Pyrenees, the scene that now lay before him was gentler. Here the terrain formed a plateau and was more sheltered on this south-facing side of the mountain. Gascon eyed it appreciatively in the weak sunshine, thankful that it was not so harsh and barren as the north face, his ears straining towards the muffled hue and cry of men and dogs on the move drifting upwards through the vegetation below.

‘Come on then. Alez!’ he whooped joyfully. ‘Let’s hope it’s my lot down there!’

Gascon wove a twisting course through the forest below in the wake of the excited barking. He had to push on hard, snapping branches in his wake, as the distant hunt dogs crashed onwards with their noses to the ground. Entirely caught up in the concentration of the chase, Gascon soon began to close the distance in between, very hesitantly approaching the rear of the pack. It was then he noticed that one of the hounds was lagging some way behind. He could see that the chase was not going well for this dog and, slowing his pace as he drew alongside, saw that he was

bleeding from a deep gash on his leg. Expecting the pack hound to be alarmed and aggressive at the sudden appearance of an unknown dog, Gascon haled him from a respectful distance.

‘Hi there,’ he called out politely. ‘I don’t mean to startle you, but I’m lost and when I heard all the barking I thought you might be from my pack.’

The seasoned hound, reading no menace in the stranger’s gentle and submissive body language, checked his pace, coming to a halt in a small clearing. He fixed the newcomer with an inscrutable stare and lifted a cautious nose to the wind, sniffing him over from a safe distance.

Gascon did likewise, taking in the lean and muscular frame of a dog in his prime. Its large body was covered with a shaggy grizzled coat that was greyish brown overall. Gascon trembled under its long gauging appraisal, seeking what comfort he could in some of their similarities. The dog’s naturally fierce expression was softened by the same light tan spots above the eyebrows as his own, giving the cunning appearance that his eyes were open and watchful even when closed.

Now seemingly satisfied that the interloper posed no threat, the large grey hound sank down, wincing with pain from his wound, leaving the newcomer fidgeting awkwardly.

‘That’s a nasty tear you have there,’ said Gascon, filling the long tense silence. ‘Good idea of yours to stop and lick it clean until you get back. I go by the name of Gascon, by the way,’ he added shyly, as this now seemed to be expected of him.

‘I’m Jacques,’ the other answered tersely. ‘Aye, well, cuts, bruises and worse are all in a day’s work. You look as if you’ve seen plenty of action yourself,’ he said, eyeing the patchwork of long healed, yet visibly impressive scars on the newcomer’s left haunch. ‘What’s the story there?’

Never one to make much of things, Gascon was about to dismiss his heroic deed with a modest shrug, but on second thoughts, seeing the other dog flinch with pain as he licked the open wound on his leg, he decided that a short tale might take his mind off things for the time being.

‘It was a run in with a stag,’ he began. ‘I was young then and wildly overconfident. He was huge with antlers like a Christmas tree. We had him cornered and I took him on alone, thinking I could hold him at bay. I should have known that’s when any animal is at its most dangerous and, of course, the inevitable happened. He charged me and bowled me over and who could blame him, he must have been terrified. To be honest I don’t remember much after that except…!’ He broke off mid-sentence as something caught the corner of his eye. All at once a female deer crashed through the clearing right in front of them and fled off deep into the forest.

Both hounds, obeying an ancient instinct, launched off as one in common pursuit, their wounds and weariness a distant memory. Plunging on through the undergrowth with noses to the ground, Jacques soon outstripped Gascon and was the first to locate the terrified deer hiding in a small recess in the shelter of some rocks. She was injured and was trying pitifully to conceal herself from her pursuers. Seeing that the creature was lame, Jacques stopped some way off. She was alone and most likely not the target of the hunt, but simply a fugitive fleeing in terror from the savagery of the chase. This was an entirely different situation as far as he was concerned.

Although it was not in his job description to hunt indiscriminately, it was for more than duty’s

sake, that he quietly held back to let her escape. His master, he must obey, but he was his own man when it was left between himself and the forest creatures. Gascon was hard on his heels, bowling noisily through the undergrowth. He certainly felt his age keeping up the cracking pace.

Jacques on the other hand, appeared to have been revived by his sudden burst of speed. Seeing the big hound’s hesitant body language, Gascon pulled up several metres away, mistaking his hanging back for stalking the prey.

‘Do you think she’s going to charge?’ he whispered, creeping silently over the intervening distance between them.

‘No, I suspect the poor thing is just running for her life to avoid getting caught up in the hunt,’ said Jacques. ‘I was giving her time to break away, but she’s injured and probably exhausted, or she would have gone by now.’

Gascon looked nonplussed. The big hound’s extraordinary response was an unexpected eye opener. In contrast to his own clumsy over eagerness, Jacques had exercised his own sound judgement by actually coming to the deer’s rescue. As the penny slowly dropped, Gascon grimaced ruefully at his own ready obedience to the instinct that still worked within him. They could smell the stricken creature’s fear. She was aware of being cornered and expected to be rushed at any moment.

‘It would have been kinder, just to move off quietly and leave her to it,’ Jacques reasoned wisely, sizing up the delicate situation. ‘But the problem is that she’s obviously in trouble and needs to rest. The least we can do is stay around and try to throw the hunt off her scent and give her some time to recover.’

This just and wily hound talked the same solid sense that reminded Gascon of his level-headed mentor, Auguste, and he knew instinctively that he’d found a new friend in him.

‘Yes, you’re right and my apologies for being slow on the uptake,’ he mumbled awkwardly.

Jacques’ fair-minded words had inspired Gascon. They had brought him to the knowledge that the moment had come to let go of duty. Marvelling at his own dramatic change of heart, he realised that it was only his own inexperience that held him back.

‘But how do we go about gaining her trust?’ he asked tentatively, wondering how best to cope with his sudden new-found outlook.

‘Well, it’s obviously not a situation of our choosing,’ replied the big hound testily. ‘All we can try to do is show her that we mean no harm by doing nothing to panic her.’

Both hounds stood regarding the deer from a distance, appearing momentarily at a loss. She stared back at them, her eyes bulging with fear and bewilderment, stamping her hooves in both challenge and agitation. It was not an encouraging start, and as they expected, she was fixed on their every movement. The hounds settled down, patiently accepting that it was going to be a long and frustrating wait.

Without warning, the ominous sounds of the approaching hunt starting to close in unwittingly did them a favour. The deer stirred, but rather than tearing off blindly, as they had expected, she gave out a deep agonised bleat in their direction. Unknown to them she had a much bigger problem than her injured leg, and, in her desperation, had made a decision to risk their goodwill to help find her baby.

‘My name is Amelie,’ came the distracted wail. ‘In all the confusion of the hunt I’ve become separated from my little one. Have you seen him? He’s out there all alone in the forest,’ she cried. Totally unprepared for this outburst, it was the turn of the two hounds to stare open mouthed at the deer, greatly unnerved by her sudden change in manner towards them.

Clearly accustomed to assuming command, Jacques was the first to recover. ‘Right, let me think,’ he said urgently. ‘How far back did you become separated from your young one?’

‘Maybe two or three kilometres, I’m not sure with all the uproar,’ replied the deer, her mind in turmoil. ‘We were fleeing for our lives through some thick undergrowth and suddenly he wasn’t by my side. I taught him never to turn back with the hunt on our tail, so I carried on, hoping to find him up ahead, but there was still no sign of him when I ran across your path,’ she cried mournfully.

The two hounds could sense the deer’s tortured imaginings, knowing that her young one would be out there somewhere, afraid and expecting to her to come back for him. Determined to return the kindness he had been shown lately by Henri and Auguste, Gascon sprang eagerly to her aid.

‘In that case he can’t be so far away,’ he soothed, reassuringly. ‘Let me go and search for him while you rest here in safety. You can trust Jacques to throw the hunt off your scent.’

Jacques warmed to the older dog’s courageous offer to rush off into the unknown, but the natural leader in him very gently suggested that, as they were on his patch, he should be the one to go.

Never one to play power games, Gascon accepted Jacques’ point. The big hound’s inside knowledge of his home ground would obviously be a great advantage. The mother deer, meanwhile, acutely aware that time was of the essence, was looking dismayed at their apparent indecision.

‘I can’t thank you enough for your help,’ she ventured politely, ‘But don’t you think we should all go in search of my boy. He’ll be waiting alone out there and I’m the one he’ll be expecting to see.’

‘No,’ replied Jacques, taking charge. ‘We need you here to guide us back to base or it will all end in chaos. Plus, he’ll only ever have one mother and if you get caught up in the chase again who knows what could happen,’ he added more gently. ‘No, you stay here with Gascon to guard you.

Don’t worry, I’ll find your little one.’

Having agreed on a plan of action, Jacques courteously approached the deer, needing to absorb her identifiable scent in order to reassure her young one. Fear and suspicion were an integral part

of her nature, they were the very essence of her survival. She edged away nervously, but accepting that she had no choice, the deer dropped her head in assent and stood panting as the shaggy hound moved in close enough to do her serious damage. With surprising sensitivity, Jacques expertly sniffed the wounded animal and then sniffed the air for her baby’s scent on the wind.

‘Right, leave it to me,’ he assured them. ‘This forest is my home ground, so remember, whatever happens, try to stay around here so that I can find you,’ he stressed, looking pointedly at Gascon.

Seeing that Jacques was now fixed on his mission, Gascon suddenly felt out of his depth at the thought of being left alone with a terrified and rather defiant-looking creature.

‘Jacques, hold on a minute,’ he whispered, ‘How am I going to hold her here if she decides to join in the search? She’s going to be beside herself with fear and worry when you’ve gone.’

‘The mother will stay here because she’s seen the sense of keeping out of harm’s way for the sake of her baby,’ replied Jacques decisively. ‘Chin up, Gascon, and remember, do nothing to panic her.There are times when we must stand and defend our own. You’ll see, she will rally at the sight of her young one.’

With this rousing call to arms, Jacques tore away into the gloom of the forest, leaving the hound and deer eyeing each other suspiciously, feeling ill at ease and mutually cornered. Gascon was never at his best in social situations, and the fear of doing anything to alarm the deer robbed him of words. He decided that keeping perfectly still, and avoiding all but the most necessary eye contact, would be the best strategy to display his lack of hostility towards her.

Meanwhile, as Jacques penetrated deeper into the forest, the well-worn tracks had become all but obliterated by mud and slush from a month’s mixture of rain and snow. The day was now taking on a rawness as the big hound ploughed on skywards through the trees, intent on getting his bearings up and away from the tumult of the barking below. The freezing clods of mud accumulating around his legs were seriously hampering his progress, due to the constant need to stop and shake off the excess that was dragging him down. Ignoring the punishing climb, the unflagging veteran hunter drove himself relentlessly onward, trusting his nose. As he halted for the umpteenth time, something directly above him had dislodged a rock, that came rattling down and dropped in the mud at his feet. Looking up through narrowed eyes, he half glimpsed the merest stirring. Then his nose caught the unmistakeable scent of the young deer on the wind. The little creature ducked down, hoping to avoid discovery. Jacques’ mind was racing ahead as he cautiously stalked the deer with practised ease, trying not to alarm the little one into rushing off in blind panic.

‘Phew, what luck, I’ve found him. It’s going better than I’d hoped,’ he sighed relieved.

‘Well, so far so good, but how am I going to get this terrified young creature to safety if I can’t get near enough to gain his trust in the first place?’ he considered anxiously.

The approaching hue and cry of the hunt soon settled Jacques’ dilemma. Abandoning any attempt at subtlety, his overriding thought now was to save the young deer’s life. He lunged forward, forcing it to run.

‘Run upwards as fast as you can away from the sound of the dogs,’ he bellowed frantically.

Jacques’ stampeding tactics had the desired effect in jolting the deer into action, but the innocent little creature was too panic-stricken to take any notice of his advice. Instead of going upwards as it broke cover, it fled in a downwards direction, heedless of meeting with impending danger. The big hound followed as closely as he dare, watching helplessly as the deer careered towards certain death.

‘Stop, stop!’ he yelled desperately. ‘Your mother is Amelie. I know where she is.’

In a state of utter distraction, the young one continued its headlong flight, appearing not to have heard the hound calling out. Just as Jacques was thinking that his rescue attempt was going badly wrong, the terrified animal slowed down and came to a halt in a clearing without giving any thought to concealment. The baby deer had heard his mother’s name called out and was full of indecision. As his frenzied brain was digesting this information, he was sure that he’d caught her unmistakeable scent in air about him, yet his pursuer was the enemy so it must be a trap! He knew he had every reason to distrust this dog, but, surrounded by enemies on all sides, where else was there to turn?

‘Who are you, and how come you know my mother’s name?’ the little one demanded with more than a touch of defiance in his voice. ‘Do you really know where she is? Is she hurt?’ implored the terrified creature anxiously.

Jacques approached hesitantly. At close quarters he could see that the baby deer was a young buck, only a few months old, who was shuddering with fear yet trying to put on a brave face. The big hound was a shrewd judge of character and the little buck’s courage impressed him. Taking advantage of the hint of curiosity in the deer’s wide, wary eyes, he ventured to speak.

‘Your mother is safe, but tired.’ he replied gently. ‘She’s been searching for you since you became separated by the hounds. She told me that you were always taught run upwards to get away from the hunt. She’s waiting for you higher up in the forest with my friend who is protecting her from harm.’

Although most of the story rang true, the little buck was nobody’s fool to follow a stranger, no matter how persuasive he was. They could hear the insistent baying of the hounds getting closer by the minute. Jacques knew that, being so exposed, the deer was a sitting target for any rogue hound that may have broken away from the chase.

‘He doesn’t realise the danger he’s in,’ he thought fretfully, ‘I’ll just have to decide matters for him.’ Seeing the young buck’s confidence beginning to waver again, he called out in desperation.

‘Look, I promise not to come any closer, but being out in the open is dangerous for both of us,’ he reasoned, in a voice fraught with concern. ‘We have to get away from here right now! You start climbing upwards and choose somewhere safe to hide and I’ll bring your mother to you.’

Common sense had won out in the end, as Jacques could see the buck’s faculties beginning to return. Now that he had the little one’s attention, he wasn’t going to waste his words.

‘Just do as your mother taught you,’ he urged, taking command of the situation. ‘Go on, go for it!’

The little buck fled off ahead of Jacques, crashing through the undergrowth, heedless of the snags and scratches, chasing on up towards the skyline with a strong burst of speed until they were out of earshot of the hunt.

Meanwhile, higher up in the forest, time was weighing heavily for Gascon. He could see that nerves were getting the better of the mother deer, as she began tossing her head and stamping.

Feeling awkward and clumsy, he felt that he must at least try to do something to distract her.

Without daring to make the slightest movement he called out softly to her.

‘Try not to be afraid,’ he said, in a hushed voice, ‘I thought it might be some comfort to know that Jacques is a veteran hunt dog. He knows this forest like the back of his hand. He’ll find your baby if anyone can.’

The mother deer flinched at the sound of his voice, staring at her reluctant guardian in surprise.

The two creatures looked each other shyly in the eye for the first time. Emboldened for managing to claim the deer’s attention without disastrous consequences, Gascon didn’t feel quite so tongue-tied.

‘Perhaps I could introduce myself?’ he offered politely. ‘They call me Gascon and I’m a stranger here just passing through,’ he added timidly. ‘I got lost a while ago and I’ve been searching for my own pack family ever since.’

The simple courtesy of the hound’s manner put the deer faintly at ease. Regarding his rather old-fashioned charm with a slight hint of amusement, she replied in equally formal terms.

‘My name is Amelie,’ she whispered shyly. ‘I’m sorry you’ve become involved in my trouble, but I’m very grateful for your help. You and your friend seem very different from all the other hounds around here?’ she ventured with genuine interest. ‘They are savage beasts who chase and corner us defenceless deer, snapping at us and biting until their masters arrive. Does that not happen where you come from?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid it does, but it’s not really our fault. That’s what we working dogs are bred for,’ replied Gascon, suddenly forgetting his reticence in staunch defence of his own kind. ‘At one time we would have lived out in the wild and like you, with only the need to survive as our guiding instinct. But then we got mixed up with humans, who discovered that dogs had the ability to obey and took advantage of our natural hunting instinct to do their bidding. Living

alongside each other should have been to our mutual advantage, but in the long run it has turned us dogs into the sadly dependent creatures we are today with no idea of our own personal liberty.’

Feeling acutely embarrassed for his outburst, Gascon looked down at the ground, unaware that his words had claimed Amelie’s rapt attention. Something he’d said had resonated deep within her. On hearing him voice his separation from the freedom she’d always taken for granted, she felt sadly moved by the tone of yearning mixed with resignation speaking through the hound’s crushed spirit.

‘I never thought of you hounds in that way,’ she replied wide eyed. ‘Please don’t take what I said to heart. I’ve often wondered why humans think they have the unmerited right over everything in the world around them. Don’t they know that all living things have the right to exist for themselves, yet we’re powerless against them. All we deer can do is to keep out of their way as best we can.’

Any reply from Gascon was abruptly cut off by the approaching crescendo of barking, as a pack of howling hounds, finally closing in on their quarry, crashed through the forest just below them.

Gascon and the mother deer, seized with panic, shrank down low, holding their breath in terror, relying for their lives on the advantage of staying upwind of the hunt. Listening intently for what seemed like an eternity, the old hound was visibly relieved to hear the distorted sounds of the receding tumult of men and dogs drifting away through the lower levels of the forest.

‘Phew! Now that was too close for comfort,’ Gascon burst out, no longer tongue-tied. ‘If any of those stragglers had got wind of us we’d have been done for.’

His sudden loss of reserve was not lost on Amelie. It eased the sense of tension between them.

She met his excited eye appreciatively, permitting him to move a little closer, drawing what comfort she could to ease the torment of waiting.

On their steep climb to safety, Jacques’ ears had also caught the carrying echoes of the chase sweeping through the depths of the forest below. Experience told him that the dogs were closing in on their prey and the hunt would soon be winding up for the day. He barked out to the young buck, checking his flight.

‘Put the brakes on up there, young man, I think we’re safe now,’ he said, his voice firm and steady. ‘Find somewhere to hide yourself. Then I’ll go and find your mother,’ he added comfortingly.

Low grey clouds were looming not far above them making the air bitingly cold, but now that they were on safer ground, Jacques let the little buck take his own time to pick a well-hidden spot and get comfortable. Satisfied that he was as well concealed as the sparse scrub would allow, he nodded encouragingly.

‘Okay, that’s fine. Now just stay there and keep your head down, and, no matter what happens, wait here until I get back with your mother.’

The brief winter day was now moving on as Jacques hurriedly marked the spot for his return.

The little buck, full of trepidation, seeing the light beginning to fade, was having second thoughts about being left alone in the dark shadowy forest.

‘How will you know where to find me if I’m so quiet and well hidden?’ he asked. ‘Suppose I follow at a safe distance and you can call me when you find my mother,’ suggested the wily little creature.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Jacques replied reasonably, ‘But at this time of the day there’s no time to lose. I need to move very quickly in order to get back here before dark. Best to do it my way little fellow. Just stay put so I know where you are and I’ll be back with your mother before you know it.’

At this Jacques streaked away to complete his mission. He knew that it would be an anxious wait for the buck, but with time so pressing, it was a case of being cruel to be kind. And not only that, he was acutely aware that the hunt had almost run its course. He must be getting back to his pack before he was missed. With his nose on high alert, he raced the return, covering the sodden, zigzagging paths back to a waiting Gascon with lightning speed. Soon picking up the mother’s scent on the wind, he burst into their midst as abruptly as he’d left.

‘Sorry to keep you,’ he rasped out, sprawling on the ground gasping for breath.

Although agonised to have news of her young one, seeing the hound so wearied by his gallant actions, the mother deer waited patiently until he had gathered himself sufficiently to speak.

‘I’ve found him and he’s safe,’ Jacques announced simply.

All three creatures stood looking at each other with the grateful smile of those who have lived through near disaster together.

‘Well done Jacques, that was no mean feat,’ said Gascon, full of admiration for the courage and ingenuity of his resolute new friend. ‘The odds against the little one’s survival were pretty slim if you hadn’t found him.’

‘Yes, you’re the hero of the hour. I can’t thank you enough,’ gushed the mother deer tearfully.

‘Oh, think nothing of it,’ grunted Jacques, not one for praise. ‘Well, what are we standing here for?’ he muttered awkwardly, ready again for action. ‘Come on, let’s get moving. He’ll waiting for us and what’s more, I’ll be expected home any time now,’ he added significantly.

They set off following Jacques as swiftly as the deer’s injury would allow. The going was heavy, as their paws and hooves found hardly any firm footing over the churned mud of the rugged paths.

‘I just hope the little one has stayed where he’s supposed to be,’ the big hound muttered to Gascon over his shoulder when the anxious parent was out of earshot.

Within only a few minutes the mother deer, recognising the unmistakeable scent of her young one, was suddenly spurred on by an elation she’d hardly dared allowed herself to contemplate.

She knew that her chance meeting with these kindly hounds had tipped the balance between life and death for her baby and words could not describe her gratitude. Very soon all three noses were irresistibly drawn to the same spot where the young deer was hidden. With bated breath the mother called out gently to her baby. On hearing her voice, the little buck cautiously showed himself, then, with an ecstatic returning call, he bounded to his mother’s side bleating joyously with relief and delight. The two hounds stood watching the rapturous reunion, each inwardly gratified at their part in bringing about a swift and satisfactory conclusion to a desperate situation.

It was almost dark by now and with no time to waste, they paused very briefly to wish farewell to the happily reunited family and then made ready to be on their own way.

‘Well, we’re done here,’ said Jacques with his customary brusqueness. ‘Take care to wash that wound of yours in a clear mountain stream every day,’ he advised the mother deer, casting an eye over his own bloodied body, before turning a look of mock severity on the little buck. ‘Promise me you’ll always do as your mother says in future, little man,’ he cautioned with a wink. The little one nodded shyly, before retreating to safety behind his mother.

‘I do try to keep him within earshot, but he needs a little freedom to learn,’ apologised the mother deer in the little buck’s defence. I owe you so much for your help today,’ she cried with feeling, before they could disappear forever. ‘Had it not been for both of you, tragedy would have overtaken my family today.’

‘No charge. We do what we can for each other,’ assured Gascon, echoing Henri’s kind words to him when he needed help. ‘Try to find somewhere quiet to rest for a while, and remember to take care of your mother,’ he called out, smiling at the little buck as mother and baby melted away into the forest.

Chapter Six Now that the job was done, Jacques, had pressing duties of his own to attend to and was already heading off rejoin his pack.

‘Thought you might like meet some of my pals,’ he called gruffly over his shoulder as he went.

It was raining heavily now and the grim February day was coming to a close with a brisk wind slanting sheets of ice-cold rain across the valley. Gascon was feeling out of his depth in this strangeneck of the woods. So, with nothing else on offer, there was little option but to take up the big hound’s invitation.

‘Well at least it’s all downhill,’ Gascon murmured to himself, as he plunged off in the wake of the big hound. Lumbering down the winding mountain slopes to goodness knew where, it was all he could do to keep up with Jacques’ breakneck speed. Lack of food and the unexpected exertion of the day were now catching up with his already fragile body as they careered on at speed.

Once they were out of the dense forest, Jacques’ pace slackened at last to a trot. After a short distance, the ground began to open out onto a gentle slope, revealing a narrow well-worn path leading into a small concealed clearing ringed by conifer trees. Jacques paused for a moment before proceeding cautiously towards some rough buildings that came into view, urgently signalling for Gascon to hold back until he had examined the lie of the land. It was sad to see this courageous and dignified dog slinking low, sniffing for signs of human presence around the place he called home, fearing that his absence would not have gone unnoticed. The big hound padded silently around the perimeter of the rickety chain link fencing, listening intently before sounding the all clear. Quietly beckoning Gascon forward to introduce him to his friends, a small group of half-starved dogs appeared from under their flimsy, makeshift wooden shelters. They all came charging forward to the wire fencing of the enclosure, howling in unison when they saw Gascon.

‘Quiet lads, or you’ll have me in more trouble than I’m in already,’ hissed Jacques under his breath. ‘Come and meet a new friend I met in the forest today. This is Gascon and we’ve spent most of the day together on a death-defying mission,’ he announced for dramatic effect.

Gascon noticed that, at Jacques’ command, all the hounds had fallen silent, indicating that his new friend was held in some esteem by the pack. The rest of the dogs resembled Jacques in almost everything but size. They were more of a medium height, with rough, wire-haired coats of mottled brown and grey. Gascon took an instant liking to the craggy and grizzled expression on their sweet inquisitive faces fringed with a light brown, whiskery beard. Although they were scent hounds like himself, they got their looks from a mixture of old French breeds known as a Griffons, prized by hunters for their amiable temperament and exceptional qualities as a tracking dog. Gascon studied each of them in turn and his friendly gaze was returned with respect. They all had experienced Jacques’ exacting standards in a crisis and for this gentle, unassuming hound to have lived up to his expectations, he must be good.

‘Hello, Gascon, and welcome,’ offered a sturdy hound with a greying bristly moustache, who was the first to welcome the newcomer. ‘My name is Remy. We’ve not seen a stranger around here in a year or more. What brings you to these parts?’ he enquired gently.

‘Hello, Remy,’ Gascon replied shyly. ‘Nothing more interesting than being lost I’m afraid. I’ve been roaming the forest for more than a month now trying to find my way home, although I’ve almost forgotten what it looks like,’ he trailed off abstractedly. All eyes were on the newcomer, waiting expectantly for him to continue, but Gascon’s sight had turned inwards, resting somewhere in his mind’s eye, as he digested the enormity of the change that had come over him.

Step by step, along the way, his own expectations had undergone a significant revision, gradually revealing a self he never knew existed. The sight of these hounds, consigned to living out an entire existence shrunk to this one tiny world in a secluded neck of the woods, caused him to feel deeply dispirited.

‘Has no one helped you out along the way?’ Remy prodded gently, drawing him back to the present.

‘Oh yes,’ replied Gascon, rousing himself. ‘Some animal friends looked after me in the last village. I was sorely tempted to stay, but trying to creep about unnoticed around people in a small village is impossible. I knew it would eventually lead them into trouble, so I had to move on in the end.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes,’ declared a dour-looking hound with brutal honesty.

‘We hounds are just not adapted to living in the wild and that’s that.’

‘I’m sure Gascon doesn’t need reminding of the perilous straits he finds himself in!’ Jacques silenced him with a meaningful glance, looking apologetically at the bedraggled hound standing before him.

‘You’re just a dog down on his luck,’ put in another quietly spoken hound, with intelligent eyes.

‘Anyone can see that you deserve a break. Why don’t you hang around here with us for a while and see what happens?’ he suggested, looking round for support from his kennel mates.

The whole pack howled their agreement in unison.

‘I was just getting to that if you’d let me finish,’ cried the dour old hound, casting a rather hurt look towards Jacques. ‘You won’t last long out there on your own. Stay here with us. It’s hard going in the hunting season and slim pickings on the menu,’ he grumbled, ‘But we get by together.’

Once again, Gascon was deeply touched by such spontaneous kindness to a stranger. Only Jacques had any inkling of his new friend’s dilemma. He suspected that a month of tasting freedom and living constantly at the mercy of the savage laws of nature must have changed Gascon in ways that the rest of them couldn’t even imagine.

‘Thank you all for your generosity,’ said Gascon sincerely. ‘It really is a great honour to be invited to stay here, but my eyes were opened out in the forest today with Jacques. It made me realise that, up to now, I’ve been driven by some inbred duty to find my way back. I thought it must be my fault that I got lost, even hoping that I would be missed and needed,’ he scoffed.

‘Coming unexpectedly upon that poor mother deer, cowering and cruelly separated from her young one, showed me the other side of what it’s like to be continually terrorised by hunters and their dogs. How can I close my mind and be part of that while bearing the weight of this discovery?’

Jacques nodded quietly in agreement. He’d long acknowledged that a working dog’s willing compliance to duty was a result of generations of domestication, but he was wise enough not to dwell on the price he paid in sacrificing his personal liberty in exchange for security. In his view, once dogs had discovered their way into the human world they had gradually lost the imagination and ability to survive in the wild. It was a niggling itch he preferred not to scratch.

‘But we’re indispensable,’ cried the dour old hound, indignant at the implied brutality of hunting.

‘Without us the population of wild boar and deer would grow out of control.’

‘Yes, please excuse me. I intended no criticism,’ Gascon quickly assured them. ‘I appreciate that there is no easy solution to that problem,’ he added respectfully. Although he suspected that there was a case to answer regarding the pros and cons surrounding hunting, discretion warned him that it was wiser to leave any debate on that particular subject to those better qualified to comment.

‘Our master believes that hunting is part of his heritage and must be protected to keep the rural life alive,’ reasoned the quietly spoken hound, hoping to soothe the growing tension. ‘He thinks that town and city people are simply unacquainted with our different ways. He’s afraid of losing his connection with the countryside.’

Listening to the hounds’ ideas, so entirely based on human ambitions, Gascon became increasingly saddened to witness their own diminished expectations in life. The dogs’ complete acceptance of their owner’s unjustified right to manipulate them, told him much about his own previous life and his former unquestioning devotion to duty. It was this new discovery that now set him apart.

‘Yes, but what about us? What about our well-being?’ he ventured to ask. ‘The hunters’ protection of an old tradition doesn’t justify poor welfare standards for the animals in their care.

Surely we should also reap the rewards of our loyalty and hard work, not simply be treated with indifference,’ he added, looking pointedly at the flimsy makeshift kennels and the small cramped enclosure.

Jacques agreed wholeheartedly, but sadly none of that mattered here. This was the only life he and his friends had ever known, and it would not help for them to be made any more aware of their many deprivations. Unlike Gascon, they had not had a taste of the wider world, and, if they did, they wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with their freedom anyway. What was the use of stirring up a hornet’s nest of unrest?

‘I know what you mean, Gascon,’ he stepped in tactfully. ‘And you’re right, it’s basically down to lack of proper respect for us animals. You’d think that for all our efforts in the hunt we should have a better life for what we do. But, as things stand at the moment, we just have to stick together the best we can. You above all must know that, without a master, there are precious few alternatives to wandering lost and adrift in a world we know nothing about.’

Jacques’ calm good sense told Gascon much about the working of his new friend’s mind. He realised that big hound had an intuitive grasp of the situation, but, whatever his views on the subject, he must remain practical for the sake of the peace of mind of his fellow pack hounds.

Out of respect for his judgement the subject was tactfully dropped.

‘Right then,’ declared Gascon, thinking this would be a prudent moment to make his exit. ‘It’s been a pleasure spending time with you all and an honour to meet someone like Jacques. I can say with all honesty that I’ve never before met his like.’

At this, the whole pack erupted with praise for their leader.

‘Aye, you could trust him with your life,’ pronounced the dour old hound.

‘Yes, he’s our rock,’ agreed Remy.

‘None better,’ put in the quietly spoken hound for good measure.

Mortified at finding himself the star of this impromptu swell of admiration, Jacques gruffly called his fellow hounds to order.

‘Come on you lot, it’s been a long day and we have another action-packed morning tomorrow,’ he reminded them ruefully. ‘Best to bed down together and get those soggy bodies of yours dried before we’re off again at the crack of dawn.’

Glad to put an end to a cold and damp February night, the hounds didn’t need telling twice. After nodding their goodbyes to Gascon, with nothing to look forward to after a hard day’s work, the pack of bedraggled dogs climbed gratefully into their ramshackle huts, huddling up for warmth and a well-earned rest, leaving Jacques to fend for himself outside the enclosure.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you all out in the cold Jacques,’ apologised Gascon, feeling very uncertain of his next move at this time of night. ‘I should have been on my way ages ago.’

‘No problem, Gascon,’ replied Jacques. ‘It did us all good to meet you. But if you don’t mind me saying,’ he added with his usual common sense, ‘it’s already too late to set out now. I suggest you stay here tonight. There’s a kennel round the back for us late comers and it’s big enough for two. I can offer you a bed, but no breakfast I’m afraid, if you’ll forgive the pun.’ he snorted mirthlessly.

Thankful for the decision to be taken out of his hands, Gascon was flooded with relief to accept the offer of a much-needed place of safety to bed down. He knew that it was common sense not to set out in the dark and made no protest as he followed Jacques to their lodging for the night.

‘I can’t thank you enough for taking me in tonight, Jacques,’ he said gratefully. ‘I imagined that I’d be stumbling around in the dark again as usual.’

‘You’re welcome to stay here anytime, Gascon, and remember, if you’re ever in trouble in future, you know where to come.’

The old hound nodded his unspoken thanks, too overcome to put his gratitude into words.

‘Come on then, old chap, let’s get some sleep,’ Jacques beckoned Gascon to follow. ‘We’re soaked to the skin and the trials of the day can’t have done either of us any favours.’

Even at this late hour, Gascon had learned that pack manners must always be observed. He hung back courteously while Jacques made himself comfortable, before timidly taking his place at a respectful distance in the kennel. But once the heaviness of exhaustion had claimed them, their bodies naturally gravitated together for warmth and comfort for a few grateful hours in the shadowy, nocturnal peace of the quiet backwater in the woods.

After a month of living on his wits in the wilderness, Gascon slept only fitfully and woke up well before dawn. He lay quietly content in the darkness, the gentle pressure of his friend’s steady breathing against his back felt safe and reassuring after being so long alone and afraid at night. It would be so easy to give in and stay here, just to share in the comradeship of a life he understood. But, from now on, to endure captivity in such neglectful conditions was no longer an option. How could he continue to serve a master so heedless of his responsibility towards the basic needs of the dogs in his care?

‘Courage, mon brave,’ he told himself, and not for the first time, trying to bolster what little there was left of his waning resolve in order to face whatever was to come in the days ahead.

Jacques began to stir, uncannily sensing his new friend’s inner turmoil. The big hound’s uppermost waking thought was to persuade the old dog of the foolhardiness of leaving. It wasn’t in his nature to be argumentative, but casting doubt on the venture was the only card he had to play.

‘Are you okay, Gascon?’ he asked quietly. ‘I know you have a big day ahead of you, but it’s still early. Try to rest for a little while longer before you insist on taking another reckless leap into the unknown,’ he added, hoping this glaring candour would drive home the point.

Gascon’s heart lurched at hearing the harsh truth put into words. He was momentarily stung by such blatant discouragement coming from his respected friend, but immediately recognised it as a ruse to get him to stop and think again.

‘It’s good of you to be concerned, Jacques,’ he smiled wanly. ‘I’m sure to regret not taking your wise advise in the days to come, but I can’t ignore all the things that have been laid bare before my eyes.’

Jacques remained filled with foreboding at old hound’s insistent folly, but accepting that his mind was made up, he put his own views aside to concentrate on a plan of action for the lonely wanderer.

‘I am trying to understand your reasoning, Gascon, but it must be obvious by now that you can’t continue to live this unsettled life. So where do you go from here?’ he enquired in a serious tone.

Having asked himself the same question repeatedly, the old hound had already reached the conclusion that life on the road was not for him.

‘Well, I thought that going back to live on the outskirts of the last village I stayed in would be as good a place as anywhere,’ he replied uncertainly. ‘I made friends there, and if I could find somewhere to shelter, perhaps an empty outhouse, or make a den in the woods, maybe with a little help from them, I’ll be able get by,’ he concluded lamely.

‘But didn’t you say you wanted to avoid involving your friends in any trouble?’ queried Jacques.

‘Yes, but that was staying with Henri in his den,’ Gascon clarified. ‘He needs that place as a secret bolt hole for when he’s being bullied at home. I intend to find some quiet out of the way place of my own and do whatever it takes to survive.’

In agreement with Henri and Auguste before him, Jacques could see no useful end to his friend’s insistence on living rough in the wilderness. The prospects of an elderly dog making it alone in the world were very slim, but it would not help to shake his fragile confidence when he was on the point of leaving.

‘That’s the spirit, Gascon,’ he reassured him earnestly. ‘Just hold on to that one thought. Do whatever it takes to SURVIVE. Never be too proud to ask for help. Remember you’ll always have friends here who’ll gladly share anything with you. If in doubt, promise me you’ll come back.’

Once again Gascon felt ashamed to be refusing yet another good-hearted hand of friendship.

‘Thanks for everything, Jacques. I’ll miss you,’ he called sadly over his shoulder, turning to leave.

It was the big hound’s turn to hide his emotion. He’d never had much time for sentimentality, but he found himself greatly drawn to Gascon and, on this occasion, his curt manner masked a sinking heart. ‘Don’t let this be goodbye, old chap. Don’t be a stranger. Au revoir.’

Chapter Seven Shunning the good will and familiarity of a life he’d always known was one of the hardest things Gascon had faced since finding himself alone. It was barely light as the old dog crept out into the murky shadows of the approaching dawn. Going back to the place he had first found friendship seemed to be his only practical option. He didn’t feel proud to have ignored their good advice and now be returning to skulk about on the fringes of the village, but what else was there to do? Having come to a decision gave him, at least, a scrap of confidence as he struck out once again on the long climb back up and over into the valley from the direction he had come.

There was still very little light as the anxious hound slunk cautiously through the dense undergrowth of the lower slopes. The path was damp and spongy from countless seasons of fallen leaves and Gascon could hear, from the menacing sound of animals still out rooting for food, that he was leaving himself open to danger.

‘I should have waited for daylight,’ he muttered in alarm. ‘Goodness knows what I’d do if I came face to face with a wild boar out here on my own.’

He’d glanced droves of wild boar at a distance, mostly females and their young, who seemed more concerned with keeping the herd together than anything else, but a lone male was a different matter.

Male boars were big solitary creatures, powerful and muscular, who’s only enemy in the forest is humankind. Boar mainly rested during the daytime after a night rooting about for a diet of mainly plant material. Yet, being omnivores, it was still possible to come across one still out hunting for any smaller animals scurrying about in the half-light before dawn.

Fear of the unknown spurred Gascon rapidly onwards along the upwardly sweeping paths. The sheerness of the mountain slope was already slowing him down, his breath rasping out in great white clouds on the ruthlessly cold morning air. He moved cautiously along a narrow, overgrown track, strewn with broken branches and small rocks washed down by the melting snow, almost impassable from disuse. Here, on the deserted upper reaches of the mountainside, all the stirrings began to cease. The profound quiet started to stretch Gascon’s nerves, giving him a distinct sense of being watched.

He padded on uneasily, seeing no sign of life, but somehow the unnatural silence foreshadowed imminent danger. He glanced back several times, holding himself poised to run, but he saw nothing. Then, thinking he caught movement, he drew back quickly into the shadows. Fear sent blood pounding in his ears, obscuring the sound of the attack when it came. Without warning, there was a sudden violent shift of air, as a big powerful animal launched itself out of the bushes and lunged towards him. It was too late to outrun the creature even if he could. Frozen to the spot and gasping with fear, the old hound closed his eyes expecting to be skewered by a thrust from the boar’s great tusks. When it didn’t happen, he waited for what seemed to be an age with his eyes shut tight in an agony of expectation. Finally, risking a peep to witness what surely was about to be his grisly fate, to his utter amazement, he was, instead, faced with the fearsome sight of a big wiry boar regarding him with considerable interest.

‘Sorry I startled you,’ rasped out the boar, panting from the unaccustomed exertion. ‘I have to make a point of discouraging predators. It’s all part of the job,’ he explained conversationally.

‘Hey, hang on a minute though,’ he paused, excitedly scrutinising Gascon. ‘Yes, I’d say you fit the description, and if you are who I think you are, from what I hear, you’re quite a celebrity hereabouts.’

Still overwhelmed by his near-death experience, Gascon stared uncomprehendingly at this massive bulk of a creature, feelings too stunned to think, let alone speak. Seeing that his words were not registering with the newcomer, the boar retreated to a more discreet distance and sat down, quietly signalling that he posed no threat. Even though the hound was still grappling with the effects of the perilous attack, this simple gesture informed his scattered faculties that any immediate danger had passed. The creature was a fearsome sight, and, even more intimidating at close quarters, caused Gascon’s stomach to lurch at the thought of the dire injuries those lethallooking tusks could inflict.

‘What’s happening?’ he blurted distractedly. ‘Why didn’t you charge at me and have done with it?’

‘What, and dispatch the man of the moment. You must be joking,’ replied the boar agog with excitement. ‘Harm the famous Gascon when the whole forest is buzzing with tales of your exploits.’

Gascon hesitated before speaking, certain that it must be a case of mistaken identity. He was far too modest to identify with any heroic exploits, but he’d recovered his wits enough to decide to play along, thinking that to deny such a claim, in this instance, might well jeopardise his safety.

‘Well, they do call me Gascon,’ he replied cautiously. ‘But actually I’m just a lost dog passing through unfamiliar country. I apologise for barging in, I’d no idea that I was trespassing on your home ground.’

‘Oh, forget the name and number routine,’ cried the boar impatiently. Are you the hound who saved Amelie and her young one, or not?’

The old hound’s body sagged with relief. He had no idea what all the fuss was about, but admitting to the good deed seemed to suggest that he’d live to see another day.

‘Okay then, yes, I am Gascon,’ he confirmed. ‘But the real hero of the day was Jacques. He’s one of the local hounds who was out hunting in the forest around here. I was simply there by chance.

He took all the risks to find the baby deer, I just stayed behind to guard Amelie.’

The boar yawned, clearly unimpressed with this version of events, as it only told him what he already knew. Being something of a gossip he wanted the inside story, hoping to be the first to broadcast a detailed account of his guest’s heroic feat.

‘I’m Jean, by the way,’ he continued, sounding churlish and disappointed. ‘Amelie said it was typical of you not to want to hog the limelight, if you get my pun. Believe me, she’s singing your praises all over the forest for saving both their lives.’

‘But truly, Jacques was the driving force and deserves all praise,’ Gascon insisted. ‘He’s a staunch ally for anyone to have in a tight spot and very highly regarded by his pack.’

‘Oh, really,’ replied the boar testily, his powerful tusks jutting menacingly. ‘We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one. From my experience, the less said about those hunting dogs and their trigger-happy masters the better, endlessly scattering and terrorising the forest creatures.’

‘Yes, but the dogs are only doing their masters’ bidding,’ excused Gascon timidly. ‘You could say that it’s part of their job description too. It’s what they have to do to earn their crust.’

‘Well, that’s not how it works around here,’ grumbled the boar sourly. ‘I have a duty to protect my territory from predators, beyond that we live peaceably and only take what we need to survive.’

Gascon felt humbled again by the justly simple philosophy of this ferocious looking beast, whose indignation was not only for himself. He nodded in quiet agreement, hoping it to be a suitable reply.

‘No hard feelings then?’ enquired the boar disarmingly, in the hope that the news of his terrifying skirmish with the hero of the hour would not be relayed all over the forest. Given the unfortunate circumstances, he was genuinely sorry to have frightened the wits out of the old hound, yet his ego couldn’t help feeling somewhat gratified that he hadn’t lost his touch.

‘No, none at all,’ replied Gascon gallantly, ‘I was a predator at your door. I’m sure you did your best to keep hidden, but when I got too close, you did what you had to do to protect yourself.’

‘It’s best to catch ’em off their guard you know,’ chuckled the boar, warming to his subject, now that his secret was safe. ‘Ambush and panic allows ’em no time for reaction. The charge is usually enough to discourage any dog from ever bothering me again, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘That must be the understatement of the year,’ burst out Gascon wide-eyed, reliving the dreadful moment. ‘When I get out of here I certainly won’t be straying deep into the forest alone again.’

‘Well, wherever you’re planning to go,’ announced the boar proudly, ‘You need have no fear of the road ahead. You’ve been given the freedom of the forest as an honoured guest. Where are you making for, by the way?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Faced yet again with the same question, Gascon sighed inwardly. ‘I’ll spare you my life history,’ he explained quickly, not wanting to make a big deal of it. ‘Although I’m lost and alone, I’ve decided that I’d rather brave any odds that the wilderness can throw at me than go back and serve a bad master. My plan is to go back and make some sort of life on the outskirts of a village where I once made friends.’

‘But to what end?’ snorted the formidable creature uncomprehendingly. ‘One lone hound is no match for us forest creatures, so what makes you think you can survive?’ he rasped out tersely.

Why don’t you stick around here with me for the winter. There’s plenty of room and you can rest assured that no one will bother us,’ he added, chuckling at his own joke.

Gascon stared open-mouthed at the boar, taken aback by his abrupt and unceremonious invitation. The hound looked on wordlessly at the vast irascible creature, suspecting that the boar’s prickly, offhand gesture, was the closest thing to friendship this legendary unsociable creature had ever permitted himself to come. In his own rough and ready way, Jean was welcoming him into the last sacred sanctum, perilously off-limits to all but this most solitary animal. How tempting it would be to live here in seclusion and learn the art of survival hidden away from the world. He dared not admit to himself how intolerable he found the demands of living with continual uncertainty, but he was inclined to think that other feuding males in the vicinity would not be so tolerant.

‘I’m truly astounded that you think well enough of me to have me hanging around,’ replied Gascon, acutely aware of the huge compliment bestowed upon him.

‘I took to you straight away,’ admitted Jean, sounding as if he couldn’t understand it himself.

‘Believe me, I would never have thought that I could get along this well with anybody before!’

Staring wide-eyed at the vast menacing animal, Gascon could well believe it, yet he felt proud to have gained Jean’s trust. So, not wanting to sound ungrateful, he very tactfully made his excuses on the grounds of the boar’s own security. He knew that territorial rivalry between competing males in the breeding season would not foster acceptance of outsiders, and he certainly wouldn’t want to get caught up in the crossfire of any patch wars.

‘There is nothing I would love more than to accept your invitation, Jean, but we’ve got to accept that I’m a hunting dog with all the problems that implies,’ Gascon reasoned. ‘Sooner or later I’m bound to be responsible for bringing hunters and their dogs nosing around up here. And besides,’ he added, glancing nervously over his shoulder, ‘We don’t want to disturb the neighbours.’

Jean shrugged dismissively. Gascon had already made up his mind and would see it through.

‘Well, be sure to look me up if you’re ever in this neck of the woods again,’ He called cheerfully to the old hound’s retreating back. ‘And wherever you’re heading for, good luck.’

With a wistful backward glance at Jean looking so self-assured of a place in his own realm, Gascon bleakly continued on his way.

Chapter Eight It was broad daylight by now and Gascon was fiercely hungry. He knew that he must concentrate all his effort on the matter in hand if he wanted to eat. Hoping for inspiration, he expertly nosed the morning air, sniffing out the telltale odours of nocturnal prowlers that still lingered on the recently brushed fronds of grass. Suddenly, something small and furry streaked across his path like lightning. Whatever it was, it left him standing. Like it or not, the old hound had to accept that he had neither the stamina nor turn of speed to get off the starting grid in any competition for food.

‘So much for survival of the fittest!’ he cried out to an empty sky.

With his spirits nearing rock bottom and on legs leaden with fatigue, Gascon continued the dismal trek, retracing his way up the steep gradient leading into the next valley. As he continued his ascent, the way ahead was becoming indistinct in the rapidly gathering mountain mist, causing him to rely on his nose to navigate the interconnecting paths. Vegetation was sparse as he neared the treeline of the rocky upland terrain, prompting him to chew on what there was left of the scant greenery to stave off his hunger pains. The going was getting very tough for the old dog as he groped his way, traversing the tracks of shifting shale and vaulting up and over jagged stone slabs.

‘I can’t keep this up much longer,’ he moaned, taking a deep shuddering breath. ‘But surely, once I’m over in the next valley, I’ll find my bearings again.’

At one point the path was so eroded by a continuous torrent of rushing melt water that to get across Gascon had to scramble down into the cleft carved by the elements that ran into a shallow pool. Ignoring the intense cold, he lapped gratefully, letting the reviving water fill his empty stomach. The prospect of nearing the summit went some way to improve his spirits, and, after another exhausting hour, he’d made his way up and over into the next valley to where the worst of the rocky descent evened out onto the softer lower slopes. Having retraced the route back down into the lowlands, the familiar scents spurred him on to find the place he hoped would be an end to his wanderings. There was still a long way to go and he had very little energy left, but the comforting feeling of being nearer to home drew Gascon on. He needed to stop many times to rest and to sniff the grassy signposts at the interconnecting hunting paths, but, in due course, by recognising scents already known to him, around noon he was approaching the outskirts of the village.

‘Here at last,’ breathed the weary traveller, heaving a sigh of relief.

The day was cold, but clear, with a little watery sun overhead. Gascon gazed out, feeling hesitant at the sight of the distant rooftops. The master plan was to hide in some long disused shed on the outlying slopes around the village during daylight hours and go out foraging overnight for what he could find to eat. The sound of dogs barking in the distance was already beginning to undermine his confidence. Fear and doubt were never far away. He knew the likelihood of success was small, but it was the only plan on offer, and if wanted to find a safe place for the night there was no time for idling.

‘If I’m not mistaken,’ he halted, as familiar landmarks jogged his memory, ‘I spotted an overgrown shed somewhere down to the left along here on my way out of the village. I remember thinking that it wouldn’t be easy to find if you weren’t looking.’

He carried on searching until he detected what looked like a rarely trodden path branching off to the left. The old hound pushed a difficult route through the knotty undergrowth, liking it the better for being all but impassable. Suddenly he came upon the place and nodded, surveying its seclusion with satisfaction.

Such as it was, the only virtue of the dilapidated little shack was its isolation. It had been standing empty for years and almost reclaimed by its natural surroundings. From the bits of wood nailed on at various intervals, it looked nothing more than a broken-down hut, but, for Gascon, it represented an end to his wanderings. Somewhere he could call his own. The old hound lurked in the shadows cautiously listening for any sign of life. Finding nothing amiss, he crept along the overgrown track towards the shed, checking for any clues of recent habitation.

His usually keen instincts would have alerted him to impending danger, but, worn out with wandering, many telltale signs had escaped his notice. Finding no evidence of footprints or animal activity, he risked a peep through the rickety door. Much of the shed had rotted away long ago. He could see that what was left of the wooden floor was sodden, and the walls were stained green from rain dripping through holes in the roof. It was a damp and bleak place to live, but it at least provided some shelter from the worst of the weather and he desperately needed to escape the cold. Unknown to Gascon, an old villager out hunting, had been observing his progress through the forest for the best part of an hour. It happened to be the same tetchy old man from the village who had chased him off with a stone.

‘That dirty scavenger’s back again,’ he grumbled scowling. ‘I’m going to corner it or it’ll come sniffing round my dogs again and making a nuisance of itself.’

Satisfied that no one was about, Gascon had finally crept into the shed. It was dim and hardly warmer inside than out, but, after being forever on the move, all he wanted was to curl up and sleep.

In the meantime, the cunning old hunter was threading his way unseen through the tangle of bushes, coming up from below the building. He watched and waited until the hound dared to venture inside, and, with a sudden lurch forward, slammed the door shut and barricaded it with a loose plank at his feet. Gascon hurled himself at the door in terror causing it to creak on its crude frame. He flung himself again and again, outraged at being trapped and furious for being caught out. The shed shifted on its foundations, but the door held.

‘Oh, what’s the use?’ cried the hound hoarsely, accepting the futility of it all after his first panic had subsided. ‘I knew from the start it would end this way. It was only a matter of time,’ he moaned. Overwhelmed by a profound sense of defeat at being shut in and feeling utterly powerless, the old dog lay down on the slimy green boards and curled up tightly to shut out the terrors of the world.

‘All that energy wasted on a door,’ shouted the old villager callously, still ranting on outside about the pestilence of stray dogs. ‘Now I’m stuck with the problem of what I’m supposed to do with the likes of you,’ he added scornfully.

A combination of despair, hunger and fatigue spared Gascon hearing the villager’s tirade of heartless abuse as he stomped off home. With his secret place discovered, his one chance of survival ruined, the shutters of his mind came down as he lapsed into delirium. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there in his listless state, when he was roused by the sound of voices and heavy footsteps. The old hound, feeling chilled to the bone as the wind forced its way through the ill-fitting slats, held himself taut with foreboding. The old villager had reappeared with a younger version of himself. Gascon recognised the older man’s voice as the two men neared the shed.

‘The ruffian’s in there,’ he cautioned. ‘Be careful, son, it’ll be as dangerous as a wolf.’

There was a moment’s silence as they deliberated before opening the door a crack, expecting a mad dog to pounce. According to his father’s exaggerated distrust of stray dogs, they were dealing with a savage and dangerous beast likely to go for their throats. Being met instead by the cowering, fearful eyes of a pitifully thin dog, offering not the slightest sign of resistance, the son soon sized up the situation.

‘He’s not a fiend, dad!’ he cried. ‘He’s just a lost and hungry dog who’s frightened out of his wits.’

The obstinate old villager wasn’t to be so easily shaken out of his firmly held opinion. ‘Oh, I know that one,’ he replied sourly, taking obvious pleasure in thinking the worst. ‘He’s crafty.

He’s just biding his time before he springs at you. Watch out, son, or he’ll have you.’

Gascon flinched as a sudden shaft of light slanted through the wide-open door. Taking in the old hound’s obvious distress, the son immediately crouched down speaking gently to him.

‘It’s okay, boy,’ he said soothingly. ‘Don’t be afraid. My name is Serge, and I’m here to help.

Come on. Let’s get you out of this horrible place.’

From his father’s distorted version of events, the son had come prepared with ropes and restraints to wrestle a raging beast. What he found instead, was a subdued little creature cowering in the corner of a filthy shed, desperately in need of some care and attention.

‘Oh, the poor thing’s just skin and bone,’ he groaned when he saw the state he was in. ‘He needs help fast, dad. I’ll try to get a lead on him and get him to the Animal Rescue Centre as soon as possible to be assessed.’

Unwilling to be convinced, the mulish old villager grudgingly passed his son the dog lead at arm’s length. Gascon was beyond caring and had ceased all thought of struggle. His eyes widened with alarm as the younger man slowly approached him, but he allowed his powerless

body to be gently coaxed from the hut and ushered back along the path towards the village into the son’s waiting van.

The younger man’s kindliness seemed strange to the terrified old hound. He patted him gently and spoke to him in a quiet, reassuring voice along the way. Nearing the village, Gascon eyed the van’s open tailgate containing the ubiquitous hunting dog crate with a sense of deja vu.

‘Just like old times,’ he smiled to himself mirthlessly. ‘Right back where I started.’

Accepting his fate with hopeless finality, he showed no resistance as his body was carefully eased into the crate with an apologetic look from the son.

‘I’m sorry, boy,’ he told him softly, closing and fastening the door. ‘I know you must be very afraid just now and it’s tough that I can’t explain what’s happening to you, but, trust me, you’re going to get some food and medical attention very soon.’

Chapter Nine Being carried around in a hunting crate was second nature to Gascon. He was resigned to the continuous vibration during transportation and was unexpectedly comforted by the rolling and pitching as the van made its way along the rough track leading back onto the road. Now that he was on his own again, his tortured brain was filled with self-reproach for not anticipating his capture.

His mind’s fruitless goading came to an abrupt end with a sudden lurch, as the van’s motion ceased. This was followed by a slamming of doors, signalling the arrival at the Animal Rescue Centre.

Finding himself trapped with no say in the matter in yet another unknown world, poor Gascon felt a net of terror tighten around him. Just outside the van, he recognised the voice of the kind man who had brought him here. He was speaking in low urgent tones to a woman, who turned out to be the Warden of the kennels. They seemed deep in conversation, presumably it was something about him he thought in silent panic.

Gascon’s heart pounded with fear as the back door of the van was slowly and gently opened, unveiling a scene of utter confusion. At the sight of so many people and dogs, the old hound cowered towards the back of the crate trembling. Yet, in spite of his terror, he was deeply relieved to see the same kind man who had brought him here standing outside.

‘Hello again boy,’ said Serge, quickly crouching to the hound’s level. ‘Try not to be afraid, you’re going to be well cared for here. Come on out, little fellow, and let’s get you something to eat.’

Gascon allowed the man to coax him from the crate, hugging tightly to his leg, clinging to him on the grounds of his being the last contact with the only life he’d ever known. He gazed around in bewilderment, taking in everything that was going on in that hectic place with dread. By now he was too far gone to put up any resistance and made no objection to being led towards a small building a short distance from the main kennels. Through the open door he could see a little black dog on a bed in one of the small enclosures inside the room. It was lying on its side with something white wrapped round it’s middle and thigh. The dog made no move to get up as they entered the room but gave a happy wag of recognition as the Warden gently crouched down to its level.

‘How’s my lovely Chloe today?’ she whispered tenderly to the little dog. ‘This poor little girl was a stray and got knocked over by a car, but she’s doing fine now, she explained to Serge.

‘We’ll find her a good home as soon as she’s up and running again.’

Gascon, who had never experienced any kind of human affection, listened in amazement as the Warden continued talking softly to the little dog, stroking the eager nose through the bars of its kennel with motherly concern. She continued her gentle actions, making a show of it for the benefit of the newcomer. Then, taking care not to make any sudden movements, the Warden slowly turned towards the old hound, speaking to him in the same kindly voice.

‘You must be so tired and hungry poor boy,’ she soothed. ‘Come on, let’s find you a nice warm bed. We certainly won’t let you go hungry for another day,’ she added firmly.

Gascon was already feeling light-headed with fear and hunger. He looked back at her through large vacant eyes, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. Recognising the warning signs the Warden became immediately matter of fact.

‘This poor dog is becoming unresponsive,’ she announced urgently turning to Serge. ‘We’ll cut through all the formalities for now and get some fluids and nourishment into him. He’s obviously taken to you,’ she smiled. ‘Do you think you could persuade him into a kennel while I go and make arrangements for his treatment?’

Left alone together, Serge looked down at Gascon, who was still pressing himself fretfully into the safety of his trouser leg. He knew the old hunting hound would be out of his depth here and felt a pang of regret to be handing him over to a place where he’d be confined indefinitely, but, in his situation, it was only available option. Speaking softly to the dog, he gently urged him towards the cosy bed in the kennel and was more than relieved when the hound went in meekly and flopped down with an anguished sigh. By this time Gascon hadn’t the strength to put up a fight, and, in any case, he thought ruefully, in a place surrounded by gates and fences, his choices were pretty limited.

He took advantage of the moment of quiet to study his new surroundings. There looked to be a row of three separate enclosures with soft deep beds at one end, each roomy enough to allow a dog to stretch its legs. From where he lay, he could see the other dog dozing contentedly wrapped in its mysterious white contraption. The sight of that, together with the strange medicinal tang in the air,frightened him into wondering what new terrors were looming. Not knowing what to make of it all, he closed his eyes and curled up, withdrawing tightly into himself.

Now that he had handed him on, Serge looked down on the old dog with a sudden rush of pity.

He could only guess at the level of misery the poor creature must have endured that had reduced him to this helpless wreck. He stepped outside, quietly closing the door to the hospital room while he waited for the Warden’s return. Looking around the crowded kennels, he was deeply troubled by the comparatively high number of discarded hunting dogs abandoned to their own fate.

‘I had no idea of the scale of the problem,’ he sighed, gazing shamefaced at all the sad casualties of peoples’ negligence. Brought face to face with the inconvenient truth that he was involved in those same practices that were responsible for placing working dogs lower in the ranking when it came to their well-being, the sense of injustice was not easy to ignore. It had been easier not to be reminded how far their care fell short of the normal caring environment, that most companion animals should be able to take for granted.

Meanwhile, everything had fallen silent for a while in the little hospital room. Gascon’s heart

lurched all over again at the sound of approaching voices. As the door opened he flinched in alarm, his big eyes bulging with suspicion as the Warden crouched down to offer him a small bowl of food.

Irresistible hunger blotted out the fear of his immediate predicament, as he pounced on the succulent offering. The whole lot was bolted down so ravenously it hardly touched the sides, leaving the old dog looking round desperately for more.

‘Best not to overdo it, boy,’ advised the Warden quietly, exchanging the empty bowl for another containing water. ‘There’ll be more later,’ she promised. ‘Little and often. That’s what the doctor ordered and we’ll soon have you back on your feet.’

Gascon was still looking up hopefully, but seeing there was nothing else on offer, his body language spoke volumes as he turned his back and curled up huffily, burrowing his nose deeply under his tail.

‘I think we can consider ourselves dismissed,’ chuckled the Warden. ‘I suspect he’s quite elderly and in very poor shape, but don’t worry, we’ll get the Vet to examine him tomorrow and organise a treatment plan. It looks like his recovery is going be a long haul though,’ she worried.

‘I can’t thank you enough for taking the old dog in,’ said Serge. ‘It’s a relief to leave him in such kind and capable hands, although it can’t be easy coping with so many needy creatures.’

‘No, as you can see, we are overrun by a big influx of dogs at the end of the hunting season,’ replied the Warden matter of factly. ‘There is a serious case to answer for the reasons for the seasonal upsurge in numbers, but we are not here to judge. Our job is to protect animals who are left with no one else to care for them. But we can only provide the safety net, we’re not the solution. We are coping on a daily basis with the woeful results of the failure to recognise the unnecessary distress caused by a lack of responsibility.’

There was nothing accusative or scathing in the Warden’s comments, only a decent commonsense approach toward relieving animals’ suffering and lessening the subsequent heavy burden put on the Animal Rescue Centres.

Serge had to admit to feeling conflicted now that he was faced with the full extent of the misery created by peoples’ lack of proper consideration for the animals in their care. He had spent his entire life immersed in rural traditions. The hunt was considered more than a pastime in rural society, it was a given fact of life. The weekend gatherings were a place where social bonds were forged and local values kept alive, not to mention the financial service the hunters provided in keeping down the rising population of wild boar and deer, all of which caused material damage.

He’d taken part in the pleasure and camaraderie between the hunters on their grand social occasions and he knew how much it meant to his father. He suspected that, from the ancestral heritage viewpoint, not everyone would feel that their interests would be best served by opening up this debate. The breeding of scent hounds had been developed over centuries, providing working dogs that are bred to obey, with a good nose and voice. Custom dictated that they were kept confined, lean and hungry. It was generally accepted that consideration for their overall

well-being was secondary to their performance in the hunt. Serge had to admit that he’d been as heedless in his concern for the day-to-day lives of the animals as anyone else. As things stood, he knew there would be strong opposition towards any ideas of reform, but, ultimately, he had to acknowledge that the old unquestioned attitudes only benefited the ambitions of hunters at the cost of the animals.

‘The sad fact is they are all wonderful animals,’ enthused the Warden, breaking into his thoughts as they returned to her office to complete the formalities for Gascon’s admission to the Rescue Centre. ‘Given the chance, they are just like any other dog. Each has its own personality and all of them are as intelligent, loyal and patient a creature as you’re likely to meet.’

Serge admired the enthusiasm and dedication of this woman, who had the rare quality of seeing through to the beauty in each character. The paperwork was straightforward enough and everything was concluded with Serge making a generous donation towards the new resident’s upkeep. From the hound’s appearance, it was generally agreed he was most likely a Gascon hound, approximately nine years old, pending the Vet’s more accurate estimation after examination on the following day.

Having no further clues to his identification, there was little more Serge could add beyond his own name and address and location where the dog was found, given the remote chance that he might be reclaimed.

‘Thank you. All donations gratefully accepted,’ said the Warden, smiling her thanks. ‘I wondered if you had any thoughts about a name for your new protege,’ she teased.

Serge was momentarily taken aback by the Warden’s request, until he realised she was pulling his leg. He gave her a wry smile. This experience had left him feeling unsettled enough as it was, he didn’t want to become any more intimately involved.

‘No, thanks, I think the name for the old Gascon is best left to senior management,’ he parried, with a mock bow to the Warden.

‘Well, I think that just about sums him up, she replied decisively. ‘We’ll name him Gascon.’

The new inmate had been listening intently to the quiet murmur of their voices. He could hear Serge’s voice, and, although he couldn’t explain why, somehow, in their brief acquaintance, he had come to rely on this kind and gentle man. As the voices began to grow quieter, he jumped up prowling round his kennel in agitation as he sensed that Serge might be about to leave without him. Overcome with anxiety at the thought of being separated from him, the panic-stricken old dog let out a volley of grief-stricken yelps trying to attract the man’s attention.

‘Oh, please don’t go and leave me in this strange place on my own,’ he whined miserably.

Serge looked back at Gascon with a pang of unaccustomed regret to be leaving the old hunting hound to face his increasingly alien surroundings alone. The poor dog was bound to be afraid, he

reasoned to himself, but, being realistic, this was where his responsibility ended. He’d done his bit and that’s all there was to it. Hunting dogs were simply not kept as pets in his world.

‘I think it’s best if I just get on my way,’ he said hastily to the Warden, casting a last apologetic glance towards Gascon. ‘I don’t want to cause him any more distress. I know he’s in good hands and I can’t thank you enough for looking after him.’

Gascon charged around frantically, howling out his anguish on the faintest possibility that Serge would turn back, but, as the van door closed and the engine started up, all hope ebbed visibly from his worn-out body. He slumped down, hearing him pull away with a profound sense of separation from what little he’d still held as his own.

None of this was new to the Warden. No matter how many countless times it happened, it cut her to the heart to witness the grief of every poor creature abandoned here, cruelly wrenched from all they knew. A gentle snuffle close by claimed her attention. She reached out to stroke a large wet nose questing through the bars of a nearby enclosure. It belonged to an inmate of long standing, who also happened to be an elderly hunting dog. In appearance he was the senior world-worn version of Jacques in the forest. His muzzle was greying and his coat was craggy with age, but both dogs shared the same stocky build and long drop ears. The old timer had heard the griefstricken cries of the newcomer and remembered the helpless desperation he too had felt on arrival.

‘Hello boy,’ said the Warden tenderly, crouching down to his level. ‘And how’s my Bruno today?’

The steady old dog nuzzled the Warden’s fingers lovingly in reply, always overjoyed to have her near. There was fierce competition for her hard-pressed time, yet she always found space for each of them. He liked to think that he was her favourite and the two had become firm friends.

‘You feel sorry for the new arrival too, don’t you?’ she told him, warmed by his obvious concern.

‘He’s a painfully shy character, I’m afraid,’ she confided. ‘He seems to have had a very bad time of it, but, maybe when he’s a little better, you might be the one to take him under your wing.’

Bruno raised his intelligent eyes, shining with pride at the confidence the Warden placed in him from time to time. He’d been resident here long enough to witness the endless parade of sad comings and much happier goings. And, accepting his own lonely fate with regards to his chance of adoption, he’d resigned himself to playing his part whenever he was needed. He liked to think that he’d carved out a role for himself as mentor, which had its compensations of being in the thick of it. A new arrival always got a lot of attention, especially if they were the nervous type, and some of it rubbed off on him. So, as well as being able to provide a steadying influence, it also helped pass the long days.

With a final fond word to the kind old dog, the Warden continued on her rounds, returning first to check on Gascon. He was still lying in the same uncomfortable position as when she had left him, his bulging eyes reflecting his inner turmoil as he stared anxiously around for any scrap of security. Finding some way of befriending this poor dog was her priority now, but, going on first

impressions, she had already gathered that it must be on his terms. She knew that putting him under any kind of pressure would set up a barrier, having the reverse effect.

‘How are you getting on down there, little boy,’ she called gently from the doorway, deciding it was wiser not to intrude into his space. ‘I know how afraid you must be right now, but I hope in time we’re going to be friends. Well now,’ she continued softly, ‘I’m sure you must be ready for some more food, so hold tight and I’ll be right back.’

Gascon looked listlessly at the Warden giving her no sign of encouragement. After years of seeing so many bewildered animals ending up here feeling so completely out of their depth, she understood only too well that all the light had gone out of his life. Returning his gaze with a steady resolute smile, she went out quietly closing the door behind her.

Gascon remained statue-like, holding his body tense with trepidation. Chloe, the little black dog, feeling sorry to see him so ill at ease, ventured a few words of sympathy to break the heavy silence.

‘It doesn’t look as if the world has been treating you too well recently, does it?’ she offered shyly.

With no answer forthcoming, she made another awkward attempt to be friendly. ‘I can’t pretend to know what you’ve been through,’ she persisted, ‘But you’re in a good place now. They’re all so kind to us here. I can promise that you’ll be well cared for.’ After another lengthy pause, just as she thought she’d drawn no response, Gascon replied.

‘I don’t belong in this place. Please just leave me alone,’ he wailed, pointedly turning his back on the little dog.

Chloe was not quick to take offence. She took the hint from his body language, that, for now, he just wanted to nurse his sorrows in peace. Presently, the door opened, letting in the cold damp air of the late winter afternoon. True to her word, the Warden had returned with an appetising second course to tempt Gascon.

‘Here you are, boy. I’ll just leave it with you,’ she said cheerily, placing the dish inside his kennel.

As she stood watching from a discrete distance, it was plain from his determined, hunched back that the old hound was in no mood for company, but with the prospect of more food on offer he shifted his position, craning his neck towards the delicious smell. Despite his desperate hunger, the Warden looked on with concern as Gascon struggled to get to his feet. It was obvious that he was very weak and suffering the effects of a long and traumatic period of wandering all alone. As soon as he’d wolfed down the food, seeing nothing more forthcoming, he flopped down again with weary finality.

‘Good boy, that’s all for today,’ she said soothingly. ‘What you need now is some peace and quiet to recover your strength.’ Then, turning to include the little black dog, she whispered ‘You sleep well too, little girl. Goodnight both of you. See you in the morning.’

When the door had at last closed for the day, a great shudder ran through Gascon’s entire body.

The stillness was a great relief after the catastrophic events of a day that had torn him away from the only world he knew. Burnt out and beyond caring whatever impending terrors there were to face, he burrowed down into the soft warm bed, irresistibly drawn into a deep bone-weary sleep.

Chapter Ten Outside, in the long row of kennels that gave onto the flagged yard, the daily routine was well under way. It was here that the hard-pressed staff hurried about completing the cleaning out and feeding of the animals in preparation for their daily exercise and arrival of the visitors. The noise of the commotion outside eventually reached the hospital room, penetrating the slumbers of the still unconscious dog. He woke with a start, staring around heavy-eyed, as the unfamiliar sound of clattering buckets jolted him back to the present. Chloe was already awake, looking hopefully towards the door. She pricked up her ears at the sound of approaching voices. Still feeling sluggish with fatigue, Gascon looked up warily as the door opened to admit the Warden who was accompanied by a younger woman carrying a leather bag. She was one of a small team of Vets who volunteered their services at the Rescue Centre for nothing. The two women stood in conversation for a moment, privately observing the drowsy old hound. Aware that he was keeping a wary eye on their every movement, they decided to concentrate their unhurried efforts on a more than willing Chloe, giving Gascon time to adjust to their presence.

‘Good morning, Chloe. I think we should have some good news for you today,’ said the Vet, with an encouraging smile, while leading the little dog out of her enclosure to examine her wounds.

‘We’ll just check you over and if everything is healed properly your bandages can come off right away.’

Chloe was a happy, uncomplicated creature, accustomed to being around people. She was overjoyed to be the centre of attention, demonstrating her thanks by smothering the Vet with ecstatic licks. Dodging the squirming little creature’s wild enthusiasm, the Vet deftly removed her bandages.

‘Right, you’re done and everything looks good as new,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘And if the Warden agrees, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out for a short walk,’ she added with a significant wink in her direction. A knowing look passed between the two women as the Warden nodded her acknowledgement towards the door. Experience warned her that their next patient would not be quite so cooperative, so it would be advisable to clear the decks. With a few words to a waiting assistant, Chloe was soon trotting out happily for the first time in weeks.

With all distractions out of the way, Warden and Vet became a slick double act. They were old hands when it came to caring for sick and distraught animals, doing all they could to minimise their distress. The Warden was an expert in animal diplomacy and, taking advantage of the dogs' ravenous hunger, she skilfully placed a tasty treat to tempt Gascon out of the enclosure and stood back waiting patiently for her fool-proof plan to work. The hound stared avidly at the food, desperately wanting to get at it, but his natural suspicion and reluctance to leave the security of the kennel held him back. They knew that it would only a matter of time before the smell, and his all-consuming hunger, would have the desired effect, as, on cue, he launched himself out of the enclosure and descended on the treat. The Vet knelt down, deftly closing the door just in time, correctly anticipating that he would immediately retreat to the safety of his kennel. With his bolt hole closed off, Gascon stood rigid with fear and confusion. Whatever else he had endured over the past few weeks, being trapped in there with two strangers was the most intimidating.

‘Poor little man, no wonder you’re frightened,’ murmured the Vet, reaching out gently towards him. You don’t know what to make of it all do you?’ she soothed. ‘But I promise we’re here to help you.’

Gascon drew back in alarm at the touch of her hand and began tearing around the room, scouring the corners for any means of escape. Both women were quite prepared for this reaction and made no move to press him any further. They accepted that it would take some time to gain his confidence and were ready to play the waiting game.

‘He’s a very highly strung animal, isn’t he?’ said the Vet studying him thoughtfully.

After all the frenzy of his initial panic, the old hound stood sullenly at a watchful distance, waiting for their next move. It came in the surprising guise of a generous handful of meaty, bone shaped biscuits, being scattered across the floor. The cunning ploy to divert his attention worked faultlessly, as the sight of so many tasty edibles at his disposal proved irresistible. Catching him off guard, in one smooth action, the Warden slipped a collar and lead around his neck. As she expected, Gascon’s body stiffened as he bucked at the restraint of the collar, but, after a moment of holding on firmly and speaking to him soothingly, all the fight had gone out of him. Despite his natural caution, Gascon found the Warden’s kind and respectful manner gently reassuring.

‘I’m so sorry to have to do this to you, boy,’ she said, stroking his dirty, matted coat. She understood only too well that, after the enforced solitude of forest life, this new place would seem crowded and overpowering. She was touched by the old hound’s brave acceptance of his new circumstances.

‘Come on, boy,’ she crooned gently. ‘Let’s get this over with and then its breakfast and back to bed.’

A satisfied look passed between the two women, who were united in their belief that patience and gentleness always won them over in the end. Having made this small breakthrough, the Vet ventured her hand once again for Gascon to sniff. This time, instead of flinching, he gave her a shy sideways glance, anxiously keeping a close eye on her every move, as he quietly submitted himself to a brief examination. The women smiled, knowing that in their roundabout way, they had triumphed once again in making a promising start at befriending yet another homeless animal in their care.

‘Nothing wrong with you, old chap, that good food and lots of rest won’t put right,’ she announced brightly, rewarding Gascon with a handsome treat, before explaining her findings to the Warden.

‘The good news is, there’s nothing wrong with him physically once he’s got his strength back, but being so timid, I wouldn’t let him brood for too long in isolation,’ she continued. ‘What he needs is some gentle company. It would be my advice for this old boy to continue his convalescence in the outside kennels as soon as his quarantine period is over.’

The Warden was in complete agreement and already making a mental note to put him under the guidance of reliable old Bruno. In his disappointingly long residence at the Centre, Bruno was one dog, who in the face of all that had been thrown at him, had shown that life was adaptable.

‘It’s just as well,’ she mused, looking sombrely at Gascon. ‘You’re right, we’ll put him in the kennel next to Bruno,’ she said approvingly. ‘He’s calm and knows the ropes. If anyone can help Gascon settle in, it’s him,’ she concluded, following the Vet to the door.

Bruno was currently out on a walk with one of the volunteers. Most of them were regulars who came daily to the Rescue Centre to exercise the animals. Their generous help was indispensable to the daily running of the kennels and was greatly appreciated by both residents and staff alike.

Over time, Bruno had become a great favourite with the volunteers. His placid, uncomplicated nature returned the kindness he received a thousand-fold. He was joyous company in his element when out walking in the woods and forest where he had spent most of his life. There was a large woodland reserve not far from the Rescue Centre, which provided some welcome respite for both the animals and their walkers. After hours of treading the hard, unforgiving concrete surface of his enclosure, Bruno loved the feel of the soft, springy soil beneath his paws and to lift his nose again to absorb the earthy forest scents that reminded him of home. While threading their way through the woodland pathways, they were often joined by fellow volunteers, where wagging tales and pleasantries turned an outing into a social occasion. Today another regular could be seen approaching, leading a small black dog, who was unknown to Bruno.

The walkers were old friends, content to rest their legs and pass the time of day, letting their two charges make each other’s acquaintance. Chloe was thrilled to be on her first outing after spending so long cooped up indoors and was prepared to find delight in everything. She looked up expectantly at Bruno, politely wagging her tail, her courteous manners waiting for him to make the first move. He nodded his greeting towards her eagerly upturned face, taking in the nicely healed scars, which, he assumed, accounted for the lack of an earlier introduction.

‘You look as if you’ve been in the wars,’ he said, regarding her with fatherly concern. ‘I’m Bruno by the way. Good to meet you at last,’ he added. ‘I expect we’ll be seeing more of you from now on.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ said the little dog, with a rush of gratitude. ‘It’s such relief to be back outside again after spending so long in hospital, although I’m sorry to be leaving my new neighbour,’ she sighed.

‘Ah, so you’ve met the newcomer?’ probed the hound, more out of interest than idle curiosity.

‘Yes, he came in yesterday, but I must confess he’s a rather prickly character,’ she declared huffily.

‘Well, I have heard that he’s a reserved fellow,’ replied Bruno, who disliked encouraging gossip.

‘But it’s hardly surprising after being lost and living on his wits for weeks on end with no food or shelter. The freezing weather and hardship he must have faced would get the best of us down.’

Dismayed at the unmistakeable tone of reproof in his voice, Chloe was effusive in her apology.

‘Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I only meant that he wouldn’t to talk to me. I didn’t realise,’ she trailed off feebly. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what he must have gone through all alone,’ she added humbly.

Bruno smothered a smile, watching her squirm for a moment before letting her off the hook. She was obviously an affectionate creature at heart and wouldn’t have been aware of Gascon’s situation. He gallantly dismissed the need for an apology as she had not meant to give offence.

‘Well, don’t worry,’ he said with an indulgent wink. I’m sure this new boy meant nothing personal. He’s probably still in shock. Just let him be and he’ll come round in his own good time,’ he advised.

‘You’re right of course,’ Chloe agreed, eager to please. ‘And when he does, I will be right there to help nurse him out of his sadness. But only when he’s ready of course,’ she said in a rush, detecting the merest lift of an eyebrow from her new acquaintance.

‘Well, I’m very pleased to have met you and hope to see you again soon,’ Bruno called pleasantly over his shoulder as they drifted off in their separate directions.

‘Likewise, and thank you,’ replied the little black dog, relieved to have broken the ice.

Now that Chloe had been moved to the outside kennels, the next few days all blurred into one for Gascon as his weakened condition deteriorated into a deep lethargy. The Warden and staff came and went silently, treating him with more kindness than he had ever known. They’d watched over him as he twitched and yelped on revisiting his past experiences in his sleep. Under their gentle care, the torments that had besieged his grief-stricken mind were slowly subsiding. It wasn’t until the middle of the second week that he began to show some real sign of improvement. The return to his senses came and went in waves, as the bleak recollections that crowded into his fragile mind proved too hard to face. As he lay listless in the dawning light, he contemplated an uncertain future, dreading the thought of worse to come. To be fair, Gascon had to admit that the staff seemed to know what he needed better than he did himself. He had been given his own bed and his own bowl of food that he didn’t have to fight for. He was more than grateful to everyone, especially the dedication of the Warden who, he’d sensed, had never been far away during his days in limbo. He didn’t think he could trust another person after the man went away and left him here, but without realising, he was becoming just as smitten by her love and gentle respect, as the rest of the animals at the Rescue Centre.

By first light he could hear the daily chorus of all the paraphernalia of feeding and cleaning underway once again in the outside kennels. Gascon was now feeling well enough to be looking forward to his breakfast with hungry expectation. From the safety of his basket, he eyed the door impatiently with his usual mixture of suspicion and anticipation, not sufficiently confident at this stage, to risk greeting the staff face to face. When the door finally opened, it was the Warden herself, who, following the Vet’s orders, had come to supervise the old hound’s relocation personally. Recognising her comforting scent, Gascon’s habitual anxiety gave way to an almost

imperceptible wag of his tail. Warmed by this first real show of affection, she smiled, letting him settle for a while before the coming ordeal.

‘How are you today, my lovely,’ she crooned, quietly crouching down to his level in the enclosure.

Gascon turned his head a little in her direction giving her a cautious sideways glance. The Warden reached out towards him in thoughtful silence, allowing him time for a tentative inspection of her fingers, only too heedful of the disruption she was about to cause the nervous old dog by bringing his recently found security to a sudden end.

‘I’m going to ask you to be very brave today, boy,’ she said encouragingly, opening the door to the Gascon’s enclosure. ‘Now that you’re feeling better it’s time for you to leave your hospital bed, and, although you don’t know it yet,’ she soothed, ‘it really will do you good to have some company. We have a lovely warm bed waiting next door to the kindest neighbour you’re ever likely to meet.’

As she predicted, fear had already gripped the old hound’s heart at the sight of the open door.

Gascon looked at her uncertainly, clearly distressed by the thought of leaving his sanctuary.

‘Come on now, boy, follow me,’ she urged him kindly, continuing to coax him with her own brand of firmness that allowed no refusal.

He flinched in protest at the gentle tug on the lead, but, consoled by the Warden’s voice and her warm touch on his back, once they had left the quiet of the hospital room and, facing the terrors of the outside yard, he had no option but to follow, glued to her heels. The general clamour and yapping ceased in the rows of kennels, as all eyes were drawn to the newcomer. The Warden had anticipated that Gascon would be unnerved at finding himself the focus of so much curiosity and quickly motioned to a waiting member of staff to open the door of his new enclosure. She smartly led the trembling dog to the seclusion of his kennel where an enticing breakfast lay waiting. Gascon was terrified at being caught in the spotlight. Blind to everything but the desire for privacy, he shot straight into the kennel, ignoring the food in his urgent need to conceal himself from prying eyes. It came as no surprise to Warden, that, after trying to creep about unnoticed for months, all this unwanted attention must be torture for an old dog. After placing his bowl within easy reach for later, she left him alone to settle down under the watchful eye of his neighbour Bruno, with a sigh of relief.

Living in the adjoining kennel, Bruno was the perfect go-between, and best placed to ease an anxious creature’s adjustment into his new life. He too had learned his lessons in a hard school and was saddened to see a good hound reduced to this state. Bruno was blessed with an accepting nature, taking comfort where he could, and the Rescue Centre had its compensations. The constancy of the Warden helped him cope with his prolonged captivity. The nightly visit on her last rounds in the quiet of the evening was the highlight of his day. She never failed to come, calling him to her with open arms, drawing him close and resting her cheek with the utmost tenderness on the top of his head. As a resident of long standing, they both knew that it was the big dogs and the old ones that had the least chance of adoption. Bruno had resigned himself to

the fact that he was one of those not destined to have a home of their own. When she enfolded him in her compassionate embrace, he could sense the fierce loving protection she felt towards him, and how deeply she suffered on his behalf for all the indignity of his situation.

With his calm untroubled air, the stoic old hound settled down to his duty of watching and waiting, quite happy to be doing his bit. Given a little patience, the newcomer would come round in his own time. Everyone needed to stretch their legs and eventually answer the call of nature, he reasoned, and, when the new boy was ready, Bruno would be on hand to steer him safely through the cut and thrust of the daily round. It was normal for all newcomers to the Rescue Centre to attract curiosity, but sandwiched between himself and a particularly nosy neighbour with time to kill was definitely going to add to the challenge. The kennel mate in question was a small, to medium-sized male cross-breed dog named Lippy, who had been found tied to the gates of the Rescue Centre one morning with no identification. He was a clean-cut, black and tan city boy, whose cocky streetwise manner was not to everyone’s taste, but Bruno liked his ready wit.

Lippy by name and by nature, he was never at a loss for words and their light jovial banter helped pass the hours.

Unlike Bruno, Lippy was naturally impatient, and he’d been pounding the perimeter of his enclosure for over an hour waiting for something to happen.

‘Another action-packed day in store then,’ he taunted across the divide to Bruno, winking and nodding mischievously in the direction of Gascon’s kennel, choosing to ignore the big hound’s warning glance. ‘Well, what’s his problem anyway?’ he piped up mutinously for the benefit of the newcomer.

Bruno silenced him with a withering look. He was used to the little dog’s flippant comments and knew that he was only teasing, but now was not the time for mockery at the new dog’s expense.

He couldn’t allow his silly madcap behaviour to go unchecked. He beckoned him over with obvious annoyance.

‘Look, Lippy, let’s get this straight,’ he whispered severely, in an attempt to shame the meddlesome creature. ‘There’s a time and a place for jokes and this is not one of them. I’ve been put in charge of this new chap and I’m warning you, he’s not here for your entertainment. The poor thing’s only just coming round from a bad time that would have finished off the rest of us, so give him a break.’

Lippy shrugged in grudging acknowledgement, raising a petulant eyebrow. ‘Oh, come on, Bruno, lighten up. It was just a joke,’ he said, flashing him his most winsome smile.

Bruno affected a deep frown of reproach. Although not overly well-intentioned, he knew that the little dog’s cheeky capering was never deliberately cruel. At any other time he would have been amused by this saucy backchat, but, as the Warden’s trusted mediator, he would have to crack down on the worst excesses of his wicked humour. Lippy had appointed himself to the role of court jester at the Rescue Centre, and there was no question that his humour eased the tedium of the long days, amusing the residents with his witticisms and poking fun. The bolder ones could

hold their own at finding themselves the butt of his jokes, but Bruno worried how Gascon would cope under such a constant bombardment of clumsy remarks.

It wasn’t until the dwindling light of the early evening, when the noises of the daily routine began to recede, that hunger brought Gascon to his senses. Even then, he still lay huddled at the back of his kennel unable to face the outside world. Although it felt safer in the silence, he was still reluctant to move until his insistent stomach drew him cautiously towards the entrance. He eased himself forward, eyeing the dish just outside the door with longing, but feeling very dubious with regards to its ownership. Was it all meant for him, or were there others waiting out there guarding the contents, ready to state their claim? It took a heroic effort to poke his nose just close enough to the opening to look outside. Peering into the darkness, he hardly dared breath.

On finding himself quite alone, he immediately set about the task of demolishing the food at lightning speed. In the deepening light, he couldn’t see very much, but somehow sensed, more by intuition than reason, that someone was watching him. The night had grown colder and was full of disturbing animal scents lingering on the chilly air. It reminded him of the dangers of the forest at night. He edged back gratefully to the safety of his bed, worn out and glad another terrifying day was over, but shuddering at thoughts of tomorrow and yet another new world about him.

It had been a long and trying day for Bruno too. The Warden found him still on sentry duty, looking rather despondently towards Gascon’s kennel. She put her arm around his neck, taking in the weary droop of his shoulders, touched to see how seriously he took his responsibility.

Without his help, settling an anxious dog like Gascon would be even more stressful for all concerned. They were very lucky to have Bruno to keep an eye on things.

‘Come on boy, let’s call it a day,’ she whispered close to his ear. You’re doing a great job, Bruno.

At least he’s eaten his food, that’s got to be a good start, she observed encouraged. ‘It’s high time you got some rest too. The old hound doesn’t want any fuss. Just let him go at his own pace.’

The two stood together in comfortable silence for a while longer, savouring the peace that had fallen on the place now that the day’s work had ended. Reaching into her pocket the Warden produced a special treat that she had brought from home and had kept all day especially for him.

This was a golden moment for Bruno, who accepted the gift with utmost gentleness and laid it down before him with something bordering on reverence. Sensing that he didn’t want to hurry, the Warden left him sniffing it rapturously, taking his time to explore all the rich scents and aromas, made so much more precious for leaving behind the traces of her comforting presence.

Dawn came too soon for Gascon, who was still very tired and feeling stiff. He tried to doze for a while, shutting out the thoughts of the day to come, but, once the staff and residents were all stirring, there was no chance of any more sleep. Now that he was right in the thick of the morning routine, the sound of kennel doors opening and closing, water splashing, together with the yapping of excited dogs being moved to the larger outside runs while the chores were done, all felt rather too close and personal. The old hound’s senses were set on high alert, waiting anxiously for what would happen next. He decided to sit tight in his kennel, listening to the progression of the cleaning activity getting ever closer. It seemed a lifetime in coming, but still no one had approached his enclosure. The suspense eventually became so intolerable that he

decided to risk a look outside. He crept forward to the entrance of his kennel, taking a quick look left and right, poised and ready to slip back safely unobserved. Just to his right, in the next enclosure, he made out the shape of a large hunting dog bearing a striking resemblance to Jacques, resting a craggy muzzle on its paws. Craning his neck to sneak another quick glance in the big dog’s direction, he’d paused for just a split second too long. Nothing slipped past Bruno, who had immediately caught the subtle change of atmosphere. He had been awake since first light, keeping the neighbouring kennel under close surveillance. Faced with such a timid character, now was the moment to put his natural talents to good effect. Giving all the appearance of casual indifference, he called out a drowsy greeting from where he lay sprawled.

‘Hi there, good to see you out. How are you doing today?’ he drawled.

Although gripped by panic into performing his usual about turn, Gascon wavered. Common sense told that he couldn’t go on hiding forever. He would have to get accustomed to his life here whether he liked it or not, and the other dog was only being neighbourly.

‘I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking,’ he replied, sounding aloof and discouraging.

Overlooking the implied coolness, Bruno yawned lazily playing for time, slowly raising himself to a sitting position, while keenly weighing up the measure of the task ahead. He recognised the other dog’s vacant stare. It held the same sense of defeat he had experienced when he first arrived here.

Hunting hounds just did not belong in this kind of world. Whatever he said would have little comfort at the moment, so he wasn’t going to bother him with empty sympathy. It was enough that they had exchanged a few friendly words for now.

‘I’m Bruno by the way,’ he yawned again, flopping down continuing his charade of disinterest.

‘It’s been good to meet you. Hope to catch you later,’ he mumbled casually.

Gascon stared at the big hound, wondering if he’d known all along that he’d been in hiding.

Wincing inwardly at the thought of being found out, he tried to appear outwardly confident.

‘Hi, pleased to meet you too. They call me Gascon,’ he answered tritely. ‘Well, no doubt I’ll be seeing you again soon,’ he added, aware that his words were hollow sounding.

Gascon was more than happy to be dismissed and relieved that the other dog had the good sense to leave him alone. Determined not to attract any more unwanted attention, he retreated to the cover of his kennel and slumped down, deciding to lie low for a while.

It wasn’t long before Lippy arrived back from his time in the exercise yard and was soon on the lookout for entertainment. It was always boring hanging around waiting for the volunteers to arrive after breakfast. At least having a new neighbour should liven things up and he was intent on amusing himself at this new boy’s expense.

‘Morning, Bruno,’ he called out brazenly across the enclosures. ‘Has our newcomer had time in his busy schedule to introduce himself yet?’

Ready for the little dog’s trouble-stirring, Bruno was swiftly on hand to fend off the worst excesses of his unwelcome impudence. ‘Morning Lippy,’ he replied in a deceptively amiable undertone. ‘Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Gascon, but we’ve had strict orders from the Warden to let him rest for a while. No doubt we’ll see more of him when he’s feeling better.’

Bruno had a way of endearing himself to everyone. The big hound’s open friendly manner was the reason he’d been put in charge. His easy charm, together with a cool head, allowed him to pull his punches without giving offence.

‘Oh, Gascon is it?’ mimicked Lippy. He hated the prospect of a rival, putting on a show of mock bravado to cover the hurt he felt at finding his best friend taking sides with the newcomer. He was secretly in awe of Bruno, respecting the exalted status he’d earned in the eyes of the management. Everyone knew that Bruno and Warden were of one mind, but he loved him too. He needed his steady friendship more than he cared to admit. They’d always had such a laugh together until now, and he resented being pushed out by this outsider.

‘Well, he knows where I am if he needs some company,’ he quipped sullenly, always having to have the last word.

Hearing his name mentioned, Gascon lay rigid listening to their exchange. He’d never been in a position where anybody had taken the slightest notice of him before and this already gave him grounds for substantial reservations about his nosy neighbour. He could hardly bring himself to do it, but, decided that it was no use hiding away and fretting, he may as well know the worst.

Bracing himself, he slowly made his way outside to expose himself to the scrutiny of his audience. Gascon could see the small dog eyeing him shrewdly as if sizing up an opponent.

Having confronted his fear the old hound’s courage grew and a new determination entered him.

His former life had taught him some bitter lessons. He’d show the little busybody that he was nobody’s fool. He faced them squarely, politely introducing himself. Bruno returned his greeting with a hearty welcome, more than satisfied with the newcomer’s brave performance. From his own experience, he knew what this courteous charade would be costing the old hound, as neither of them was the kind of dog to want the limelight. Gascon greeted Lippy pleasantly enough, facing off the little dog’s calculating scrutiny with his own unwavering gaze, sensing the kind of torments that could be inflicted on him if anyone got wind of his terror and dread of the place.

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ he hailed them brightly. ‘They call me Gascon. Apologies for not introducing myself yesterday. This place is a bit of a culture shock. I just needed some time to adjust.’

Lippy sneered inwardly at Gascon’s self-assured smooth talk, secretly deflated to find that this new chap looked as if he could stand his ground. Nothing pleased him more than teasing nervy new arrivals with lurid tales of the daily routine. No doubt, given time, he’d find a chink in his armour.

‘They call me Lippy. Very pleased to meet you too,’ he said, feigning chumminess. ‘Honestly, think nothing of it. I know there’s a lot to take in. Everyone feels the same when they arrive.

You’re doing great,’ he enthused.

Bruno raised a quizzical eyebrow in Lippy’s direction, shaking his head at such gushing insincerity. He knew the little dog’s tricks only too well. This fake over-familiarity was just a way of biding his time before showing his hand. But today, at least, was a triumph for the old hound. Despite his best efforts, Lippy had got nothing out of Gascon beyond a few platitudes, before the newcomer had wisely made his excuses and escaped to his kennel.

‘Seems like a nice chap,’ Lippy quipped, continuing his needling, flashing Bruno a final saucy grin. He hated being outwitted and was fuming at not getting the better of the newcomer. Feeling there was now a grudge to settle, he’d plan a carefully timed assault for when Bruno was out of the way. He’d have to bide his time, just enough to put the new dog at his ease, then he’d launch his strike to catch him off-guard. He’d soon find out what Saint Gascon was made of.

With round one over, Bruno hid a smile as he made his way back to his kennel, chuckling under his breath at such shameless pretence. Gascon had already slumped down on his bed, worn out from the unaccustomed verbal sparring, yet feeling elated that he could chalk up a small, if only temporary, victory. A deeply dissatisfied Lippy continued to pace around his enclosure, devising all manner of vengeful pranks to play.

Chapter Eleven Uneventful days passed under the watchful eye of his mentor Bruno, and, with regular food and the loving care of the whole staff, Gascon gradually grew stronger as his health improved.

He was constantly wary of meeting up with his nosy neighbour, but so far he’d been left unmolested.

The day came when his strength had returned enough to be introduced to the volunteer dog walkers. Despite having Bruno by his side, Gascon was still incurably shy with strangers and had to be coaxed out of his kennel under protest for each outing. Simply being attached to a lead, instead of running freely, felt totally alien. It took his sensible friend to point that it was only for his safety, adding, with a hint of reproach, that they should be thankful for the volunteer’s time and glad they had someone to care for them until a new home was found. After a while Gascon came to recognise a few of the regular volunteers and began to look forward to his daily outings with Bruno. Out in the woods they reverted to hunting hounds again, drawn in unison to familiar forest scents, extracting every last trace of information in mock pursuit of an unknown quarry. It felt like old times as the two dogs, with their heads slung low and noses questing the ground, relived their past lives together.

The big hound was always on the lookout for trouble, ready to steer Gascon clear of any nosy residents eager to pump the anxious hound for information. So far they had avoided Lippy on their outings, but today Bruno spied him in the distance, accompanied by his regular sidekick Giles. Despite his best efforts to manoeuvre his party out of the little dog’s path, Lippy had spotted them and surged forward, pulling on his lead with a gleam in his eye, that signalled he was spoiling for trouble at their expense.

‘Well, hello there. Our paths cross at last,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Anyone would think you two have been avoiding us,’ he added, raising a peevish eyebrow in Bruno’s direction. ‘Giles, allow me to introduce you to Gascon, our newest resident.’ he announced with mock formality, winking at his sniggering pal.

‘Hello, Gascon. It’s a great honour to meet you, now that you’re up and about at last,’ replied Giles mimicking Lippy’s affected tone, egged on by his friend’s comic antics. ‘It must be hard for someone like you coming here from a hunting background,’ he sneered, curling his lip. ‘I’ve heard you’re finding yourself out of your depth coping with all the refinements of domestic life,’ he added, with a superior sniff.

Gascon knew they were making fun of him and he braced himself for the contest. He’d already got the conceited little dog’s measure. The disparaging comparison implied between their status was not lost on him, but he had no mind to dignify the uppity creature’s peevish snub with an answer.

Turning the tables back onto Giles, he decided to indulge in a little leg pulling of his own. ‘Since you ask, I’m not having the time of my life, but, wherever we’ve come from, it looks like we’re all in the same boat now,’ he replied icily. ‘Be curious to hear your story sometime, old chap?’

Lippy looked on dumbfounded. They’d all underestimated the strength of Gascon’s mettlesome character, even Bruno rejoiced inwardly at his smart comeback. Confounded by the hound’s calm assurance, Giles’ fragile bravado soon folded under scrutiny. The easily led little crossbreed dog was harmless enough, except when in the company of his extrovert friend. He only showed off and played along with his jokes to keep in favour. Lippy, meanwhile, had stayed unusually quiet during the meeting, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Gascon, trying to glean what information he could from this exchange. He had to admit that the new boy was a cool customer.

‘Nothing like a good old natter with friends in the afternoon, eh Bruno?’ he taunted, deliberately provoking his old friend, while slowly circling the group.

The big hound discouraged the mutinous little dog with a severe glance. Then, sensing things were about to get out of hand, he began putting distance between themselves and the mischief makers.

‘Right lads, don’t let us keep you,’ he said, driving Gascon on. ‘Always a pleasure to catch up.

Look forward to seeing you soon,’ he called over his shoulder, as the two groups went their separate ways.

The barbed comment wasn’t lost on Lippy, who always had to have the last word. ‘Not if we see you first,’ he replied sulkily, raising another titter from Giles. Bruno and Gascon rolled their eyes at the muffled sound of the two dogs still sniggering together behind their back.

Bruno was not overly sentimental, but he’d seen through Lippy’s resentment, understanding that it was out of hurt that the little dog had taken umbrage. Lippy believed that his best friend had dropped him in favour another dog, and Bruno must set things right with him. He looked across to Lippy’s kennel where the disgruntled occupant lay in a sulk, nibbling fretfully at his paws. He hated being ignored, and grudged Bruno devoting so much attention to anyone else. Lashing out at them was his way of drawing notice back to himself.

On her nightly visit, the Warden found the big hound looking pensively towards Lippy’s kennel.

Following his gaze, she drew him to her in a protective embrace.

‘Don’t worry, he’ll soon come round,’ she assured him. ‘The little scallywag is his own worst enemy baiting the new arrivals in your care. He should know by now what has to be done.’

Bruno pressed himself gratefully into her encircling arm, feeling the need to draw what comfort he could from her presence to face his difficulties. After the Warden had gone, he stood brooding for a while, deciding how to make amends with Lippy. He was only doing his job, he reasoned, but, on second thoughts, perhaps he had been a little more high-handed with his friend than necessary. He quietly called out their customary greeting at the end of the day.

‘Hi there, Lippy, have you got a minute?’

To hear Bruno call his name again was music to Lippy’s ears, but he’d make him wait. He was in a huff and feeling left out and he wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

‘Look Lippy, I know you’re in there. At least come out and listen to what I have to say.’

After pausing for maximum effect, the little dog casually sauntered out, feigning indifference.

‘I apologise if I’ve been a bit tied up lately, old pal,’ sighed Bruno, sounding genuinely sorry, ‘I’ve really missed our evening chats.’

‘I’m sure you have your reasons,’ returned his stubborn friend, the injured note in his voice indicating that he would not be so easily appeased.

‘Come on, Lippy, please let’s call a truce,’ coaxed Bruno. ‘Surely you remember how it was in your early days. I’ll always do what I can to help new arrivals when I’m asked. It’s just another day at the office as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Okay okay, don’t go on. I’m sorry too,’ chuckled the little dog, his peevishness dissolving under the big hound’s charm offensive. He could never stay angry at Bruno for long. For friendship's sake he would try harder not to give in to his mischievous antics.

As the days wore on Gascon became noticeably more withdrawn. He remained on his guard against a surprise attack by his nosy neighbour, but all remained eerily quiet in that quarter. Dogs would pass his enclosure, stopping for a word from time to time, but, as the weeks dragged on, he continued to grieve for the freedom of the forest and mountains. Only Bruno understood what torture it must be for such a reticent creature to be penned in and overlooked on all sides. He watched his nervous neighbour with concern and frustration as the terrified dog recoiled in horror, with his eyes bulging and tail between his legs, if any potential admirer dared to approach him. He knew from experience that such a total lack of response from any dog was enough to discourage all but the most dedicated of animal lovers.

‘Remember you’re not being held captive, Gascon,’ advised Bruno, with just a hint of impatience in his voice. ‘I know it’s hard to bear all the attention, but, if you want to get out of here, you’re not doing yourself any favours shrinking away from someone who might take you away to a good home if you give them the chance.’

‘Is that what you think of me, Bruno?’ replied Gascon, stung by the comment. ‘I hoped in my small way that I had improved. I’ve taken to the volunteers on our walks and really like some of the staff.

I promise to try harder, but contending with the visitors is so terrifying,’ he added looking stricken.

How could anyone understand his dilemma. Bruno wasn’t to know that the only possible option Gascon could face was resigning himself to living out his time here in the Rescue Centre. Even though he knew that he would never truly settle for life in such close confinement, neither would he ever have the confidence to greet people in the way that seemed easy for those dogs who had found new homes.

‘Yes, I can see that and I’m sorry, Gascon,’ replied Bruno, alarmed at having drawn out the truth.

‘It’s just that I don’t want you to end up like me, that’s all,’ he added, his voice raw with anxiety.

The resigned droop of Gascon’s shoulders told its own story. He’d decided that he would always be a creature without any of those appealing social skills that people wanted in a pet. Bruno sighed, digesting the full extent of the old hound’s the predicament in silent concern. The two dogs stood together in the fading evening light with their troubled thoughts hanging between them, before drifting wordlessly to the peace and warmth of their baskets.

In the days and weeks that came after, Gascon continued his habit of rising with the first light of day. It was his favourite time, before everywhere became noise and bustle. He loved the moment before anyone was about to absorb the fresh scents of dawn in peace. He peered out of his kennel with his usual caution before venturing into the enclosure. As he quietly padded around outside his kennel, the hound’s expert senses detected telltale odours carrying on the chill wind. The cold had also roused Lippy this morning. His eyes narrowed as he spied Gascon going silently about his business, without his minder Bruno looking on. He’d played a waiting game, but now the opportunity had arisen, he couldn’t pass up a chance of a little light entertainment. He appeared without warning, taking the old hound by surprise.

‘Hi Gascon. You look as if you could use some company,’ he chirped, with an over-friendly smile that failed to disguise the wicked pleasure he’d found in catching his rival off guard.

Hearing his name called, Gascon wheeled round, eyeing the little dog with deep suspicion. He’d half-expected this at some point, and, noting the speculative gleam in the little dog’s eye, he could tell that he was bent on mischief. There was nothing for it. Without Bruno to act as referee, he’d have to play him at his own game. Keeping his voice steady, he steeled himself to appear unruffled by the spiteful prank.

‘Morning, Lippy, I didn’t expect else anyone to be about at this early hour. Did the cold wake you too?’ he asked nonchalantly.

Lippy’s eyes narrowed, silently debating his next move. He prided himself on springing uncomfortable situations on others that were not easy to wriggle out of, but, in spite of being put on the spot, this shy and gentle hound always seemed to come up smelling of roses. He was pretty smart he had to admit, but all the more reason to goad some response out of the standoffish creature.

‘You don’t go in much for small talk, do you?’ he remarked snidely.

Gascon’s patience was wearing thin. He’d tolerated more than enough unwanted intrusion since he arrived here and the intrusion into the only happy moments he enjoyed in this place was the final straw. He was getting fed up of Lippy’s unruly urban manners. This silly backchat came easily for him, but it was not the old hound’s way. Yet somehow he must hold him in check.

‘No, gossip has never been a strong point,’ he replied pointedly, ‘But, if you’re up for it, I’m willing to have a go. What do you say to giving me some lessons? You might have noticed, I’m not going anywhere.’

Gascon’s witty repartee both shocked and titillated the mischievous dog, who was always ready to engage in a little verbal sparring. ‘Hey, you catch on fast. I must confess I’ve misjudged you.

Who’d have thought there was a comedian in there trying to get out?’ he chuckled, warming to the old hound’s dry humour.

‘Well, first impressions can be deceptive, but don’t go agonising over it,’ quipped the old hound, pretending to get into the spirit of things. ‘Maybe when we get to know each other better we could team up as a double act,’ he added feigning enthusiasm.

‘Hey wait a minute. Hold the jokes, old boy, I’m in charge of entertainment around here remember,’ blustered the little dog, back peddling under the old hound’s onslaught of pithy oneliners.

‘Oh, come on, Lippy,’ teased Gascon, calling his bluff. ‘The day’s still young, and I’m only just getting into my stride.’

It was obvious that the old hound’s shock tactics had touched the right nerve. With a reputation to keep up, and definite signs of movement coming from the other kennels, no one knew better than Lippy that news travelled fast. He couldn’t afford to be seen being upstaged by an amateur like Gascon.

‘Er, no need to rush things. If it’s all the same to you I think I’ll get my head down for a while,’ he muttered, peering around, checking for onlookers before making himself scarce.

‘Okay. Nice talking to you, Lippy. Hope to catch you tomorrow morning?’ Gascon chuckled, driving home his point.

Chapter Twelve The days were moving on bringing a welcome change in the weather. Spring had arrived, taking the chill off the air and making life easier in kennels. The residents lay sprawled out in their enclosures, basking in the warmth of the early sunshine. Bruno lounged lazily watching the world go by, content to be relieved of his duties now that Gascon could fend for himself, but he still remained concerned at the old hound’s sense of resignation. He seemed to be settling for life here, accepting that he’d remain indefinitely at the Rescue Centre like himself. But whereas, he’d found purpose in being needed, Gascon was growing listless to be so completely uprooted from his past and slowly losing the spirit that had carried him through his trials. That, together with his natural timidity, plus the habit of hiding in his kennel at visiting times, was doing him no favours on the adoption front.

Approaching the end of the day the Warden arrived making her final daily rounds, leaving her trusted old friend until last. She came and crouched down beside Bruno putting a loving arm around him, delighting in the quietly rapturous welcome he always had on offer. They sat together for a while enjoying the last warmth of the sun in companionable silence, both sharing the same concern, as their gaze settled on a quietly dozing Gascon.

‘What’s to be done about that old fellow, Bruno?’ murmured the Warden into the big dog’s ear.

She too had observed Gascon’s behaviour towards visitors. Even if he appeared at visiting time, he was sadly unresponsive. There was never any sign of encouragement, not even the slightest wag of the tail, which was always tucked tightly between his legs.

‘We need to find him a home, boy. Nine years old and extremely nervous, he’s not a great prospect, but we need to do something,’ she sighed, consulting Bruno as if searching for an answer in the big hound’s intelligent eyes. ‘Well, at a pinch,’ she voiced doubtfully, looking across at Gascon. ‘I suppose we could try making him ‘Dog of the Week’ on our website and just keep our fingers crossed. ‘Although I must admit his details don’t look too good on paper, I know there are people out there who are prepared to see through his fear and anxiety.’

The Warden was soon proved right. Gascon didn’t know it yet, but he already had a secret admirer. Sophie had seen his rather unflattering photo on the Rescue Centre website. With his eyes bulging with fear in front of the camera and looking so vulnerable, she felt deeply touched as read of the circumstances that led him there. Her old rescue dog Dax had passed away a while ago, and now that she had inherited her aunt's house in the little French village where she had spent many happy childhood summers, she intended to move there to finish her novel, and to share her new home and good fortune with another homeless creature. For Sophie it wasn’t a matter if he was cute and friendly. What could you expect of a dog taken so completely out of its element?

She recalled from her holidays among the residents of the village, that most hunting dogs were surprisingly good-natured and had a gentle temperament, but she was more concerned for the animal’s needs than her own. Moving to France would be quite an adventure. There was work to do, of course, but also time enough to explore the forests in the foothills of the Pyrenees with a

new friend. Sophie was anxious to know more about Gascon and immediately contacted the Rescue Centre, asking for a little video clip of him to be sent to her phone.

The Warden was relieved and delighted that the old hound’s media debut had so promptly achieved the desired effect. It was early days yet though, as the expectations of many a wellmeaning prospective adopter waned on closer acquaintance with the animal. Still, she wasted no time in forwarding all the available information that was requested. Gascon’s courage and gentle dignity had not escaped her attention, particularly at times when he was left to himself. Quietly unobserved, she recorded his uniquely private behaviour and sent it directly to Sophie. Sophie watched the clip, witnessing a world seen through the old hound’s eyes, noticing how tense and wary he seemed in his new surroundings, and yet how hard he tried to put on a brave face. She admired his shy unassuming air and set about making arrangements for a meeting.

Although the Warden was only too eager in agreeing to introduce Sophie to Gascon the following day, she had serious misgivings about his reception of a stranger. She felt anxious in advance that such a nervous old dog had to endure the unwelcome and stressful preliminaries involved in adoption, but there were times when it couldn’t be avoided.

‘We can only hope this will be the one for him,’ she sighed to herself, keeping everything crossed. Sophie arrived in reception just after opening time to the general public. The Warden was waiting, ready to explain what little background information there was on Gascon before performing the introductions.

‘He was found wandering half-starved on the edge of a village,’ she began. ‘He was either lost or simply abandoned,’ she stated factually. You’ll already have gathered from the footage I sent you that he’s extremely timid, but he has a very loving nature once you’ve earned his trust.’

‘He sounds like my old dog Dax,’ replied Sophie thoughtfully. ‘He was a rescued hunt dog too, so I know what I’d be taking on. Their independent nature is different from indoor pets and needs to be respected,’ she added knowledgeably, ‘So I won’t be treating my decision lightly.’

This was a promising start for the Warden. By the sound of things the young woman was already an experienced rescue dog owner and was basing her decision on a working knowledge of the breed. Encouraged by her common-sense approach, she was anxious to lead the way towards Gascon’s kennel.

‘Well, if you’re ready, we’ll go and meet him.’ she said briskly. ‘But first, perhaps we could take a short detour to show you how Gascon has been living over the last few months during his recovery.’

On the way past the rows of kennels, Sophie found it more than painful to see so many hopeful faces, large and small, all eager for a little attention and a kind word as they went by. She bent down to say hello to one little black dog who was so desperate to be noticed notice that its paws gripped her outstretched hands as if it would never let go, moving her to tears. The Warden had seen the effect this had on visitors many times before.

‘I know how difficult it is to be faced with the suffering of all the creatures who have had to leave their old life behind and end up here,’ she sympathised. ‘So many animals become the sad casualties of people’s lives through no fault of their own. We do our best for them here, but it’s not the same as belonging to someone. The elderly owner of this little girl lived alone. It was just the two of them, so she’s used to a quiet life and a stable daily routine. When he became ill and had to go into a care home there were no relatives or friends to take her in, so she landed here very distressed and still pining away for his return.

‘Oh, that’s so sad. Poor little thing,’ Sophie sighed. ‘Such an abrupt change of circumstances must be so frightening,’ she sympathised, taking in the overwhelming number. ‘With so many fretful dogs in your care, how on earth do you cope?’

‘We cope because we must,’ replied the Warden simply. ‘Without us they would have no one else.’

Sophie nodded, admiring the steadfastness of all those who stepped in and made life bearable for the animals when things had gone awry. ‘What are the prospects for this little dog?’ she asked.

‘The domestic animals are easier to re-home than the working dogs,’ replied the Warden.

‘Hunting dogs’ living conditions and life experiences have been so far removed from their indoor friends that they need a lot of patience and understanding,’ she advised honestly, walking alongside Sophie. ‘Most of them have endured captivity in very basic conditions. What with poor housing, being kept hungry, and left bored due to lack of exercise, it’s not surprising that it can lead to behavioural problems. All of this makes them initially harder to re-home. Having said that,’ she added swiftly, aware that she wasn’t really selling him, ‘given a loving home and proper consideration, they are wonderfully intelligent companions.’

By this time they were approaching Gascon’s enclosure and it hadn’t escaped the Warden’s notice that he had been observing their gradual progress with his customary wariness. He was now as much under the Warden’s spell as any dog in the kennels and was eagerly looking forward to her visit. But it was different today, there was someone with her, so he decided to dodge into his kennel hoping the newcomer would pass by. The Warden’s hopes of a modest show of interest evaporated on nearing Gascon’s enclosure. She suppressed a rueful smile as she saw him disappear from sight. ‘It was only to be expected,’ she reasoned, sighing inwardly, ‘but it’s certainly not the best of starts.’

Bruno had also been monitoring their approach, and although he was evidently overjoyed to see the Warden, he too had witnessed Gascon’s tactical retreat with dismay. Rapidly sizing up the situation, he made a chivalrous attempt to divert attention toward himself in order to give the old hound time to find enough courage to put in an appearance. It would also serve as an opportunity for a discreet scrutiny of the person who just might become his friend’s prospective new owner.

Pressing his big welcoming nose up against his enclosure, he waited for the Warden to perform the introductions. Bruno’s intentionally protracted civilities were not lost on the Warden, but Gascon still did not show himself. She knew that he’d gone into hiding and would be listening intently from the safety of his kennel. She called out softly to him, hoping her familiar voice would encourage the reluctant dog.

‘Hello, Gascon. How’s my lovely boy today?’ she crooned soothingly.

The old hound cowered deeper into his basket, terrified of facing the stranger. His disappearing act usually worked with anyone else at visiting times, but the Warden was different. Gascon’s affection for her would not allow him to ignore such kind words. He came out of his kennel slinking low with his head hanging down. His reluctance to be in the spotlight was not lost on anyone. The Warden bent down and held out a reassuring hand, but after a brief wag of recognition, the closeness of Sophie proved too much. He backed away, circling nervously, before heading back into his kennel, his acute anxiety showing in his big watchful eyes and drooping tail. Sophie smiled inwardly at her first shaky reception, but she was not easily deterred. She hadn’t missed the briefest adoring glance he settled on the Warden before his nerves got the better of him. Yes, he was her boy, but she knew it going to take time for her to win the old hound’s trust.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the Warden, watching his performance in agony, certain that he’d blown his chance. ‘Anything less encouraging would be hard to imagine,’ she sighed, disappointed for the hound.

‘Oh, I’m just another stranger to him, Sophie remarked sensibly. Knowing how timid he is, I wouldn’t have expected anything else at the moment. If it’s okay with you, I’ll visit as often as I can from now on until he feels a little more comfortable with me before I take him home.’

‘You’ll give him a home?’ spluttered the Warden, almost speechless with amazement as they made their way back to reception. That’s wonderful.’ After the old hound’s convincing attempt at sabotage, this was music to her ears. Clearly, this far-sighted young woman was made of stern stuff. Gascon would be lucky to be placed in such safe hands.

As their voices began to recede, Gascon peered around cautiously before gingerly stepping out into the enclosure, knowing he would have to face Bruno’s stern reception.

‘Oh, Gascon, that meeting could have been so promising,’ Bruno mumbled to himself under his breath, trying not to feel impatient. ‘That lady was nice, and what’s more the Warden liked her.

You do yourself no favours hiding away like that,’ he thought, his mind running on in frustration.

He couldn’t help feeling irritated out of worry for his friend’s future prospects, but, seeing the sag of anxiety weighing down on the old hound’s shoulders, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Gascon stood looking sheepishly at his friend, feeling thoroughly ashamed and deserving of a stern lecture. Bruno’s impatience immediately softened into deep sympathy towards the old dog’s nerve-racking predicament. He wasn’t going to make him feel guilty for being afraid.

‘Come on old pal,’ he said comfortingly, ignoring his own concerns, ‘You did well to come out and meet your visitor. She was the kind of person who understands your anxiety and I could tell that the Warden liked her too,’ he added, hoping to quieten Gascon’s fears enough for him to try to meet her again. If there was going to be a second time, he reminded himself, rolling his eyes!

Gascon’s mind boggled at the word YOUR. He’d thought the visitor was just another one of a host of browsers he’d managed to elude so far.

‘You mean the visitor was coming here just to see ME?’ demanded Gascon incredulously, the alarming news immediately plunging him into panic. ‘You’ve got to be joking. What would anyone want with a timid old hound like me?’ he spluttered. ‘I don’t have any admirable qualities like you, Bruno, and I’m simply too nervous to even begin to trust strangers.’

‘You underestimate yourself, Gascon,’ said Bruno firmly. ‘You have an inner strength, and I know you to be a kind and courageous friend. Anyone who can see through your fears and win your trust will be rewarded by gaining a loyal and noble companion.’

Under any other circumstances, Gascon would have been gratified to know that Bruno thought so highly of him, but now he felt deeply unsettled. He had grown to rely on his trusted kennel mate and was wretched at the thought of leaving him and the security of this place for yet another life.

‘A lot will change, I know,’ said Bruno sympathetically, as if reading Gascon’s thoughts. ‘Yet those of us lucky enough to be offered new homes must accept that we have to move on to make room for the poor creatures who come after us.’

Gascon listened with dread at the thought of being sent away, but the truth of Bruno’s words hit him like a blow. He realised how selfish he had been, hiding himself away and avoiding all attempts to find him a new home in the hope he could stay here with Bruno forever. Somehow, from now on, he must find the courage to confront his fears and accept his responsibility to the other animals. Bruno looked on helplessly, unable to relieve the old hound’s pain as he took in the stark reality of his situation. The expression of inner turmoil in Gascon’s eyes spoke volumes of the uphill struggle that would soon be demanded of him, as he crept silently back to the seclusion of his kennel.

Chapter Thirteen Sophie arrived again the next morning. She made her way past the enclosures, stopping to greet and pet any of the residents claiming her attention. Quite a number of the dogs were out on walks with their conscientious volunteers, whose efforts ensured that all the animals were kept active and socialised through their regular contact with the outside world. Gascon was strolling around his enclosure looking over at Bruno as the visitor approached. He could tell that it was the same person as before. As usual, his first instinct was to retreat to into his kennel, but a meaningful glance from his friend bade him remain where he stood. Sophie smiled to herself.

The about turn hadn’t escaped her notice, but it was early days yet and she’d come with no expectations. She knew that it was going to take time and patience to gain his trust.

‘Hello, Gascon,’ she greeted him casually, keeping things as normal as possible, determined not to start fussing and imposing on his natural reserve. ‘You might remember me. I came the other day with the Warden. It’s good to see you out again.’

Gascon eyed her warily, holding himself rigid. Sophie kept her distance, acknowledging that the old hound’s anxiety was no pretence. Gascon took a deep, troubled breath and moved uneasily towards where she stood on the other side of the fence, lowering his head as he approached, as if in apology for his lack of social skills. This amazing show of tolerance from such a shy, retiring creature made Sophie love him all the more. She decided that this was enough for today. It was enough that he had seen her again and heard her voice. Smiling her goodbye, she quickly moved away in the direction of the Warden’s office, leaving Gascon with no clue as to how the interview had gone.

‘With any luck,’ he told himself hopefully, ‘she’ll tell the Warden that I’ve failed the test.’

But Sophie had other ideas, and, on her way out, she called into the Warden’s office to give her a progress report on the day’s visit.

‘How did it go,’ asked the Warden, her doubtful look holding little prospect of encouraging news.

‘Surprisingly well actually,’ came Sophie’s unexpected reply. ‘He’s clearly very timid and still wary of me, but he ventured over to where I stood at the fence. I’d call that a very promising start.’

The Warden was ecstatic, this was progress indeed. ‘The most significant thing,’ she cried, brimming with congratulations for Sophie, ‘is that he stayed where he was instead of running away. That’s something he’s never done before. Let’s give it a day or two and then I’ll arrange for you to take him out for a stroll in the company of his friend Bruno.’

Sophie repeated the process each following day, splitting her time between Gascon and making herself generally useful around the kennels. She chatted and fussed all the residents equally, while keeping a special eye on the old hound, slowly easing him into the idea of having her around. She noticed him watching the more confident dogs, intrigued by the enjoyment they found in the company of the staff and visitors, and, in the days that followed, her undaunted,

gentle persistence was rewarded with a tiny glimmer of success. Given his own space and time, Gascon’s acute fear of her had gradually turned to interest. Although he still stiffened and shrugged off any attempt to touch him, now, when she stooped down for a gentle word, he no longer felt the urge to run away.

The day arrived to attempt a stroll together. Sophie arrived early, intent on making no demands on the old hound other than observing how well he tolerated her company on the walk. She realised that he would be mistrustful of any change of routine and was content to take things a step at a time. As she expected, Gascon baulked when he saw her standing at the open gate, and had to be coaxed out of his enclosure, appealing to Bruno in rising panic. A knowing look passed between them. Calmed by the quiet confidence of his wise old friend, after a quivering moment of indecision, Gascon braced himself, allowing Sophie to take hold of his lead. He was too timid to meet her gaze, but he walked quietly by her side, glancing back at his friend every now and then for reassurance.

As they headed off, Bruno was relieved and proud to see how well the old dog was coping with someone new. The stakes were high for Gascon, as his whole future could depend on how things went today. Privately on alert, the big hound understood the magnitude of the situation, quietly standing by to ward off any unwanted intrusions. He needn’t have worried. Once the two animals had ventured deeper into the woods, all trivial tensions evaporated once their senses were summoned by an irresistible desire to explore the scents and sounds of the world about them. It was late afternoon as they all ambled back home looking relaxed and tired. Sophie didn’t linger as the dogs were returned to their kennels for tea and a well-earned rest. On her way out she bumped into the Warden doing her final rounds of the day.

‘How do you think he coped on his first trip out with you?’ she asked anxiously, hoping for good news.

‘Well, after an understandably jittery start when he saw who was holding his lead, I thought he handled it very well,’ Sophie beamed. ‘In fact, after a very short while, he’d forgotten I was there. We had a lovely walk and if he doesn’t mind I’ll come again tomorrow for another outing.’

The Warden could only admire this young woman’s determination in befriending Gascon and was heartened by the allowances she was prepared to make in order to gain his confidence.

‘That’s wonderful news,’ she smiled, with obvious relief. ‘Yes, come by all means, and, if you have time now that he’s accepting you, why don’t you come and take over his walks.’

Later that evening Gascon and Bruno stood together, quietly staring into the distance. In both their minds lurked the knowledge that they would soon have to cope with the pain of separation.

Despite Gascon’s heroic attempt to overcome his shyness, Bruno had not failed to notice the strain on his old friend’s face from the amount of attention he was receiving from the new visitor.

As if reading his thoughts, Gascon let out a shuddering sigh.

‘Is this really happening, Bruno?’ he asked in a trembling voice, ‘Must I go away yet again to another strange place with someone I don’t really know?’

There was a long silence before the big hound could bring himself to reply. There would be a huge hole in his own life too, as he watched the days stretch out, alone once again without Gascon, but with characteristic generosity, his only concern was to reassure his friend.

‘Just give it time, Gascon, and trust your instinct,’ he said, with as much conviction as he could muster. ‘You may not realise it yet, but you’re much tougher now for all the experience you’ve been through. This new visitor seems very kind and could give you a loving home of your own.’

Gascon couldn’t deny the fact that she was kind. He sensed, that, like the Warden, the visitor had a special sort of understanding of his deep-seated shyness and reserve. She never overpowered or forced him. In fact, he was surprised how her gentle patience somehow gave him confidence, but the thought of parting from Bruno overshadowed all else. They had rubbed along so well together, bonded by their mutual history. Only Bruno knew what his other life had been like, as they’d relived old habits out in the woods together that had been the ways of the pack. It was Bruno who had shown him how to get along as best he could in this confusing place. It was he who had made his new life bearable.

‘You’re right as always, Bruno,’ replied Gascon, with a valiant stab at a brightness he didn’t feel.

‘I suppose I should at least give her the benefit of the doubt,’ he agreed, cringing inwardly.

‘Don’t lose heart,’ smiled Bruno, shivering in the night air. ‘Who knows what tomorrow might bring?’

The two friends parted solemnly, each nursing their own sorrows. Gascon lay awake deep into the night, his thoughts a turmoil of contradictions and uncertainty. He couldn’t deny that he felt hemmed in here and missed his life in the forest, often convincing himself that his wanderings in the wild didn’t seem quite so bad when viewed from the confinement of the Rescue Centre. But, now faced with a more alarming alternative, this place was definitely preferable to the prospect of living with someone as a pet, a life of which he knew nothing.

Sophie was becoming a frequent visitor at the kennels, and Gascon was surprised to find himself eagerly watching for her arrival. He was still nervous in her company, but no longer flinched at her touch and made no complaint as she put on his lead. Soon she and Gascon, together with Bruno and his walker, made up a regular foursome seen out strolling in the forest. Their walks were happy and relaxed occasions. It only took a few more visits to convince Sophie that Gascon was ready to go home. She was now comfortably installed in her aunt’s beautiful, old limestone house that stood on the edge of the village looking across the valley to the snow-covered summits of the Pyrenees. It was surrounded by a large and sunny walled garden running down to the edge of the forest, making it a perfect setting for a shy old hound to enjoy the privacy of the outdoors in safety. Sophie recalled the long hot summers of childhood, building dens in the secluded nooks and hollows on the shaded garden slopes hidden by thickets, all far away enough from the house to let her roam in freedom.

Her return to the village was a homecoming. She had always been part of community life and the residents welcomed her back as one of their own. The population had steadily dwindled over

time as the young people had left to find work in the towns, so for them Sophie was a breath of fresh air.

Once the decision to take Gascon home had been made, preparations for his departure developed at a pace. Sophie was acutely aware of the big responsibility she was taking on by having this shy animal entrusted to her care and left nothing to chance. Anticipating the understandable fear he would have in his new surroundings, she made him a cosy bed in a quiet, out of the way corner of the room where he could feel the warmth of a wood burning stove in the evening. Once everything was in place for his arrival, she arranged to meet the Warden to finalise the date and time for Gascon to make the journey home.

The warm spring days had brought a much-needed escape from the wintry confines of their kennels for the residents. Word had spread, and all the talk was about Gascon leaving. The animals had seen the staff talking amongst themselves and overheard snatches of conversation with all eyes falling on the old hound, charging the atmosphere with the certainty of his impending departure. Bruno was also caught up in the rising tension. He felt burdened with a sense of weary finality at the sight of his old friend staring pensively into space from his enclosure with his habitually downcast expression. He sighed, trying to come up with something positive to say.

‘How’s it going today, Gascon?’ was all he could think of without raising any awkward questions. ‘Things will start to look different now that the weather’s changing,’ he added, trailing off lamely. Gascon let out a long quivering breath. He knew that his old friend was avoiding the subject that was uppermost in both their minds and valued his discretion. It was only now that he might be leaving, that he’d come to realise how much Bruno’s steady friendship had given him a sense of belonging for the first time in his life. The thought of another painful parting suddenly overwhelmed him.

‘Oh Bruno, I can’t understand why me of all creatures should be singled out for a new home,’ he wailed. ‘Surely anyone can see that I’m no prize.’

‘I know what you mean, Gascon,’ said Bruno, eyeing him up and down teasingly. ‘Good job it wasn’t a beauty contest, eh?’ he joked, hoping to raise a smile. ‘Anyway, who knows, it may not come to that, but, if it should, trust me, you’re going to get the kind of life you deserve.’

The two friends lingered for a while longer, standing in their usual spot by the fence, savouring the familiar sights and sounds with what little time they may have left together.

‘Come on, old pal, let’s get some sleep,’ Bruno sighed at last, unable to disguise his heavy heart.

Gascon awoke early to the bustling sounds of the daily routine. It was the first time it had occurred to him how accustomed he had become to the organised chaos of the day. He had no idea that this was to be the last day in the place he had come to accept as home. Sophie had been asked to collect Gascon at 2.00pm and passed an understandably apprehensive morning checking and rechecking that everything was ready for the new arrival. She found the Warden busily at work in her office. When Sophie appeared the other woman’s face lit up, her greeting holding an

air of suppressed excitement. Her effusive manner raised only a flicker of curiosity from Sophie, who put it down to her delight at Gascon going home. It didn’t take long to finalise the necessary adoption papers before the two women were setting out towards Gascon’s kennel.

‘He’s bound to be afraid of being uprooted again,’ said the Warden ruefully, as they made their way. ‘Re-homing one of the residents is always a bitter sweet moment for the staff. They become our family. We feel for the anxiety they must endure when the sudden change is sprung upon them.’

‘Yes, I know it’s not going to be an easy day for him,’ Sophie sympathised. ‘He’ll wonder what’s happening. It’s a big responsibility to have him entrusted to me, and both of us are going to have to make allowances for each other. I suspect that most of Gascon’s anxiety comes from never having been around the ordinary things of everyday life, so I’ve already considered the possibility that he might never quite catch up as a typical domestic pet. But, given time and patience, I’m confident that it will all work out fine,’ she added fondly. ‘Just as it did for Dax and me.’

The Warden beamed with satisfaction that Gascon had found someone who shared her own opinions and unflagging devotion to the needs of the animals in her care. Over the weeks, she had come to like and respect Sophie, first as a visitor and prospective adopter, but more recently as a friend, and the feeling was mutual.

‘Being separated from Bruno is going be hard for both of them,’ sighed the Warden. ‘Coming from the same background is the reason they get on so well together,’ she added fondly.

She had noticed a change in Bruno over the past weeks. He seemed old all at once, as if overtaken by a deep fatigue. He hid it well from others, but the Warden knew that he was already fretting, his spirits were visibly weighed down at the thought of losing his friend. Her mind was made up, he wasn’t going to be left here on his own again. She could no longer disguise the excitement in her voice as she revealed her surprise.

‘I’ve decided that after serving a hard master for most of their life, both hounds deserve a steady loving home for the few good years they have left, just to let them enjoy being dogs. He doesn’t know it yet, but Bruno’s going home with me,’ she announced, beaming with delight.

‘Oh, that’s the perfect solution,’ Sophie, gasped with surprise. ‘He has the kindest of natures and obviously worships you. You were made for one another,’ she cried, throwing her arms around the Warden, overjoyed with the news.

Today, everything felt different. The two hunting hounds paced nervously around their enclosures, waiting for the morning outing. They had done their best to ignore the rumours that had been going around all week about Gascon’s admirer, hoping it would come to nothing, but everyone guessed what was coming. As it turned out, they were right to be anxious. When Sophie arrived, accompanied by the Warden, nothing could disguise the fact that something was going to happen. The two women received only a moderately enthusiastic welcome from the hounds. The Warden had already gauged their sombre mood, and, with a sureness of touch that

came from years of experience, she wasted no time getting the walk under way in preparation for their next ordeal. Everyone did their best to keep the atmosphere as normal as possible, but it was obvious that the dogs were nervous and subdued. They trudged slowly side by side, with their heads down, and even the tasty treats, intended to lighten the mood, were accepted more out of politeness than pleasure.

Once they arrived back at the kennels, events began to unfold rapidly. The dogs had sensed what was coming, but they hadn’t expected it would happen so quickly. This was the toughest part for the Warden too, who never ceased to dread the moment one of her dogs had to take a leap into the unknown with a new family. It was hard to endure at any time, but today it felt very personal.

Hoping that her curious actions would go some way to comforting her old friend Bruno, she carefully removed the collar he was wearing and replaced it with one of her own family treasures.

‘Don’t worry, old boy,’ she whispered gently, ‘All will be revealed later. Trust me, things are not as bad as they seem.’

The big hound gave her wary, mystified look. The collar smelled like the treats the Warden brought him from home, and, at any other time, he would have revelled in all the fuss and attention, but, on seeing Sophie do the same to Gascon, he knew the dreaded moment had come.

With sinking hearts, the two hounds moved towards each other and remained standing close together, their deep attachment evident in the warmth of their exchange. Sophie and the Warden looked on in sombre silence, letting them spend their last moments together at the Rescue Centre in their own way. A discreet nod from the Warden prompted Sophie to make the first move, as she begin to draw Gascon away towards her car. He baulked at first, staring around him in terror, but, after looking at them all uncertainly, he forced himself to be calm, allowing Sophie to lead him away from the kennels for what he knew would be the last time.

‘It’s no use making heavy weather of it now,’ he told himself dismally, wondering how he would ever get used to the idea that he wouldn’t be standing next to Bruno at the fence tonight as usual.

He didn’t want to get used to it. Bruno was his family now. Walking away dejectedly, he glanced back to exchange a last stricken look with his friend standing by the Warden’s side. Bruno was staring rigidly at the car as the engine started up, not taking his eyes away until the very last moment it disappeared from sight. Gascon helplessly read the silent plea in his eyes.

‘Please don’t go and leave me here,’ Bruno willed his friend to hear his cry.

When the car door closed, Gascon sat bolt upright, craning his neck for one last look at the dear friend he’d left standing there, believing that he’d never see him again. Despite Sophie’s best efforts, the journey to his new home was agonising for the old dog, as his thoughts kept on returning to Bruno staring at him with unseeing eyes.

Back at the kennels, the big hound remained motionless, absently leaning against the Warden’s leg, hardly noticing her soothing voice. He finally allowed himself to be comforted, but she knew that it was more for her sake than his own, and, when he looked up, she sensed the loneliness that

had already entered his heart. She bent down and hugged the big hound fiercely to her side, impatient to cheer him up.

‘Come on boy, I’ve got something to show you,’ she whispered, smiling inwardly at the surprise that he had to come.

Attaching a lead to his newly acquired collar, the two set out on what appeared to be an impromptu walk. The route was unfamiliar to Bruno, but he followed on gloomily, making the assumption that this was the Warden’s way of taking his mind off losing his friend. After about half an hour of wandering through the streets, they turned off onto a quiet, leafy lane, bordered by a large fenced paddock leading to an old rambling house. Three dogs of varying sizes came bounding down the enclosed field to greet the Warden, frisking and yapping with joy in an ecstatic welcome. Their unreserved love and enthusiasm never failed to brighten her day and as always, she returned it with equal delight.

‘There you are, my scamps,’ she laughed, ‘And what have you all been up to today?’

They were all rescue dogs from different homes, and considering they had not been brought up together, they were a happy and accepting bunch. As the dogs came nosing up to the fence, all attention turned to the big burly hound at the Warden’s side, their eyes alight with curiosity.

Bruno, a veteran pack leader, immediately sensed their acceptance. The Warden stood by contentedly while the dogs made their own polite introductions, knowing that very soon Bruno would be the shepherd of her flock, as the whole brood became captivated by his unassuming natural authority.

‘Come on then, let's get you all up to the house,’ the Warden called out merrily, as she and Bruno led the way up the track, accompanied by riotous yapping and frolicking.

The noise of their approach had not gone unnoticed. An older version of the Warden, drawn outside by all the commotion, waited patiently in the doorway. The hound was a picture of bewilderment as he stared from one woman to the other. The mother and daughter exchanged amused glances, turning into peals of laughter, that whipped up a canine frenzy of good-natured pandemonium. The Warden’s mother made it abundantly clear who was in charge of the smooth running of this household, instantly quelling the noise made by the over excited animals with a meaningful glance. Now that peace was restored, she bent down to gently stroke Bruno’s head, smiling into his eyes with the same steady calm as her daughter.

‘Hello, boy,’ she murmured quietly. ‘So you’re the legendary Bruno I’ve heard so much about. I dare say you’ll be needing a drink after all that walking. Why don’t you come in and tell me all about it,’ she chatted to him affectionately.

She led him into a large, comfortably disordered room, strewn about with dog baskets and comfy benches. Bruno’s eyes were immediately drawn to the great cooking range, which was source of the most delicious aroma. He recognised the smells in the house as the same as those on the

treats the Warden had brought for him at the Rescue Centre. It was a heart-warming scene that the old hound had never experienced before.

‘So this is her home,’ he mused, still considering himself only a visitor. He stood drinking in the cosy atmosphere while he had time, imprinting the memory of the homely sights and sounds for when he had to return to his lonely kennel. As he gazed around at all the domestic paraphernalia, his eye lighted on what seemed to be a familiar object. Bruno shook his head thinking it must be a trick of the light, mocking himself for even entertaining the thought that his own bed from the Rescue Centre could possibly be sitting in this room.

Unknown to him, frantic activity had gone on behind the scenes immediately they had left the Rescue Centre in an effort to have everything ready for his arrival here. Bruno didn’t know what to think as the Warden beckoned him to a quiet corner of the room by the fire, that, from now on, would be his own special place. This was all so beyond his experience that he politely held back, feeling awkward and out of place. The Warden understood his confusion, bending down quietly beside him.

‘It’s true Bruno, you belong with us now, boy,’ she crooned tenderly, patting his bed in invitation.

He couldn’t believe that he’d heard her right, but suddenly feeling the strain of the day’s hectic upheaval, the old hound did as he was told, and slumped down thankfully for the night. As the evening drew on, the rest of the animals began to retire to their own baskets, each dog raising an inquisitive nose in the direction of the new resident as they passed by. The old hound sensed that their polite curiosity was not unfriendly and repaid their cordial gesture with a wag of approval.

When peace had finally descended on the household, the Warden said her usual goodnight to all the dogs in turn, taking a special moment for the newcomer.

‘Poor boy, it must have been so hard moving home and losing your best friend all in one day,’ she told him gently. ‘But, believe me, you’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll be seeing him very soon.’

Chapter Fourteen The journey to Sophie’s house seemed endless for Gascon, and, when the car door opened on arrival, his heart began to thump wildly. Sophie was prepared for his obvious distress at coping with yet another change of scenery, but she knew that far worse for the old hound would be the anxiety of living in such close proximity to people. Gascon was similar in character to her old dog Dax. He’d also been very much his own man and was only ever truly at his best in his own world. Sophie gazed at Gascon, considering how best to respect and preserve this unique quality in her new friend.

Once out into the open air, Gascon took a few hesitant steps forward staring anxiously about him, before raising his nostrils to the welcome scents of the forest wafting across the valley from the distant mountains. The house stood alone at the far end of the village, surrounded by a large, shady walled garden, making the perfect retreat for a dog in the heat of the day. As Sophie gently beckoned him forward to the front door, Gascon hunched his shoulders and lowered his head suspiciously, tucking his tale firmly between his legs. He had never been inside a house before and was alarmed at the smell of everything that was totally unfamiliar. He stood for a long trembling moment, peering dubiously through the doorway. His innocent curiosity produced in him a charming reluctance, so honest and endearing, it brought tears to Sophie’s eyes.

‘Come on, it’s just you and me now, boy,’ she soothed gently. ‘This is our forever home, so we can take all the time in the world to get to know one another.’

Holding himself tense and aloof, Gascon braced himself as Sophie chatted on encouragingly while gently steering him into the living room. Once inside, he stood gaping anxiously around the room, until his eyes fixed on a recognisable object. For some reason, his own bed from the Rescue Centre had also appeared to have found its way into the house, and had been been placed in a quiet, cosy spot by the fire. Some part of him felt eased by one familiar smell, but he made no move towards it.

Just as Sophie expected, his nervous disposition would hinder any easy acceptance of his new home. Deciding not to fuss him, she quietly went about the business of stoking the fire and making a meal for them both. Gascon remained firmly glued to the mat by the door, hoping to escape back out into the wilderness. He refused the food that Sophie offered him. It was only when the trials of the day had finally overcome him that he dozed, at last, where he lay. Gazing down fondly on the sleeping hound, she was reminded of that same difficult time long ago when Dax first came home. That was before they went on to share many happy years together. During the course of the night, Gascon had made his way towards the security of his own bed in the corner. He was aroused in the morning by the strange sensation of warmth and the irresistible smell of food cooking. He opened his eyes to find Sophie smiling. She was kind and did nothing to worry him, but he simply was not used to living indoors and had no idea what was expected of him.

In those first few days the old hound kept largely to himself. It was not until the week neared an end that Sophie sensed Gascon was slowly beginning to tolerate her company. He was still very guarded and aloof, but, for her part, she was more than prepared to make any kind of allowance

for him. He had already earned her respect, but she privately worried about his dull sense of resignation. When he was outside, racing off into his own world down in the far reaches of the garden, she saw that he was in his element, but, once back indoors, he ate only sparingly and answered her attention with a wan look and scant wag of his tail. After a couple of weeks, it became clear to Sophie that his listlessness was more than likely due to pining for his old friend Bruno. She wasted no time contacting the Warden, who reported that, on the other hand, easy going old Bruno, was settling down to his new life in a shorter space of time than might have been expected. She listened while an anxious Sophie explained all Gascon’s symptoms before making her diagnosis.

‘Yes, it’s a classic case of homesickness,’ she agreed. He’d obviously settled for a life at the Rescue Centre under the watchful eye of his best friend Bruno. ‘He’s feeling bewildered, but he’ll come round in the end. Being uprooted twice in so short a space of time is hard for any animal, let alone a nervous old dog like him. I think seeing Bruno again might be just the tonic he needs to cheer him up,’ she said confidently.

From his favourite shady patch outside in the garden, Gascon cocked an enquiring ear in the direction of the approaching vehicle as the tyres came to a scrunching halt not far from the gate.

Sophie had been anxiously awaiting their arrival and was instantly at the door calling out to Gascon, unable to contain her own excitement on his behalf. At first the old hound seemed disinclined to respond, regarding her call with only vague interest, but, as he lifted a questing nose in the direction of the car, he suddenly let out a howl of urgent recognition. At the sight of the great, shaggy hound, Gascon forgot all his sorrows as a surprised-looking Bruno came bounding forward towards him with his long, loping stride. It had been less than a month since they were parted, but, from their ecstatic reunion, it might have been several years. The long-lost friends frolicked around, beside themselves with disbelief, snuffing and snatching playfully at one another before bounding off together down the tree-clad valley to the furthest reaches of the garden.

They passed an exhilarating hour or more rustling around in the damp, earthy scents of their own familiar world. Hot and exhausted, Gascon led the way to the shade of his favourite little hideaway, where the pair flopped down under the rocky canopy for a drink in the crystal-clear pool.

‘So this is where you’ve got to Gascon, you lucky hound,’ Bruno panted his congratulations, ‘It’s quite a place,’ he said, plainly impressed and delighted for the good fortune of his deserving friend.

When Gascon recalled the look on Bruno’s stricken face as he left him behind at the Rescue Centre, he felt ungrateful and too ashamed to voice his own troubles.

‘How about you, Bruno?’ he asked with genuine concern. ‘How are things going at the Centre?’

With an effort to smother his amusement, Bruno pretended a little anguished sigh before sharing the happy tidings about his new home.

‘How could you know that I left on the same day as you, when I didn’t know myself at the time,’ he chuckled. ‘It seems that, although I’d done my best to hide my sadness, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The Warden knew that I would be devastated to be losing my dear old friend and I don’t mind telling you how much I’ve missed you, old pal.’

Gascon stared wide eyed with delight at the news. He was relieved and elated to hear that Bruno was now living happily at home with the Warden, and soon the big hound had them both laughing merrily at his playful imitation of the members of his new household.

‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you too, Bruno,’ assured Gascon. ‘Your new family don’t know how lucky they are to have you, and it sounds like you already have them under your spell,’ he added with a pang of envy, listening to his tales of their recent fun and games.

‘It’s a gift, old chap,’ teased Bruno, stretching himself out with a luxurious sigh.

Having the place entirely to themselves, the two dogs lay snoozing together in utter contentment, their twitching nostrils absorbing the herb scented air sweeping down the valley slopes.

‘If I could have a wish, Bruno,’ sighed Gascon wistfully. ‘I would never want this day to end. My heart’s desire would be to stay here just as we are for always.’

Bruno secretly felt exactly the same. He missed the gentle company of his old friend more than he could say, but, reading between the lines, the ever practical hound felt it was his duty to make Gascon see the bigger picture.

‘Listen, old fellow,’ his voice was gentle, but firm. ‘You’ve got to admit that we’ve both been very lucky in our own way. Look at me, I’d accepted my lot was to live out my days at the Rescue Centre and now see what’s happened. You might have ended up somewhere in a town with little or no outside space to get lost in, but this place is fantastic. It’s as near to heaven as you’ll ever get.’

Gascon muttered something in a flat tone, acknowledging the truth of Bruno’s words. His level-headed friend always had a valid point, but he just couldn’t bring himself to share it at the moment. Not wanting to dampen their spirits, he sprang to his feet, hastily changing the subject.

‘Come on, Bruno old pal,’ he called out, rather too cheerily, ‘I’ll race you back to the house.’

Wise old Bruno took the hint, and, being no spoilsport, he immediately rose to his friend’s challenge, bounding forward with a surprising turn of speed. Taken aback, Gascon had his work cut out to catch up with the runaway, but soon the two dogs, flanking each other like a pair of greyhounds, were seen streaking up the garden to the winning post, their eyes shining with glee.

Back at the house the two women laughed as they watched the hounds’ triumphant return. They had spent a pleasant and leisurely afternoon catching up and reminiscing, content to let the dogs wander off alone to share some precious time together. The day was getting on when they

returned and Gascon stared anxiously as the Warden made preparations to leave. Seeing his friend’s look of dismay, Bruno took this one last chance to reassure him.

‘Never fear, Gascon, I’ll be back soon enough,’ he said with absolute certainty. ‘In the meantime, promise me you won’t go wasting your time wishing for things that just can’t be. Make the best of it, old pal. We both have to settle down to our new life one way or another you know.’

Gascon felt some of Bruno’s brave resolve settling within himself and was determined to make a good show of seeing his friend off with a little new-found optimism.

‘I promise I will do my best from now on, Bruno. You’re right, I’ve been stubborn and selfish, never showing a scrap of gratitude to my kind new owner, but, now that I’ve seen you again and know that you’re okay, things will be better from now on. But remember,’ he called out as the car pulled away, ‘I’ll be counting the days to seeing you again.’

He needn’t have worried. This was the first of many visits over the next weeks, months and years.

Chapter Fifteen It was about this time that Sophie saw the first notable change in Gascon. He would always be shy around strangers, but gone was the despondency and resignation she feared may rob him of his independent spirit. Now that regretful thoughts about leaving Bruno alone at the Rescue Centre were no longer uppermost in his mind, Gascon gradually began to appreciate the little things in the new world around him. He realised that waking up to breakfast from his cosy den by the warm morning fire, and then losing himself for hours in the wilderness of a garden, were very much to his liking. His owner was kind and undemanding. She respected his privacy, letting him find his own way to make a new life with her. There were times of quiet companionship when he almost forgot his awkwardness, actually preferring the hearthrug at Sophie’s feet to his own basket. And for her part, she was quietly encouraged to find him resting his eyes shyly upon her with growing curiosity.

Content with his progress, Sophie decided the time might be right to attempt a short expedition into the village. Nothing too ambitious at first, but it might do him good to explore his new surroundings and make the acquaintance of his other animal neighbours. As they set out neither Sophie or Gascon had any idea of the surprise that was about to unfold before them. Moving off for the first time from the relative seclusion of his new home, Gascon shadowed Sophie closely, sticking tightly to her side as she guided him in the direction of the main square. The old hound looked around with interest as they made their leisurely way towards the village, mentally registering the little twists and turns for future reference in order to get his bearings. With each successive turn, familiar landmarks began to jog his memory, until all at once, the penny dropped.

‘Wait a minute,’ he gasped in disbelief. ‘No, it can’t be!’ he told himself logically.

‘But yes! It really is the same village,’ insisted his stunned faculties. ‘Over there is the little fountain I hid behind when I got lost wandering round this village and was waylaid by that sly cat? Yes, this is definitely the alley I remember creeping down, dreading that the spiteful creature would follow me back to Henri’s den. Oh Henri, my dear old friend,’ he breathed, trembling with emotion. ‘I’m ashamed to admit that I’d given up all hope of ever seeing you again.’

Sophie looked down at him with concern, taking his growing excitement for fear. ‘It’s okay, boy,’ she soothed, gently drawing him to her side. ‘We’ll go back now if you’ve had enough.’

How different the world now seemed to Gascon, suddenly flushed with wonder at the odds of this miraculous coincidence. Sophie thought there was something oddly purposeful about his progress as he began to strain at his lead in his eagerness to see more, but she was happy that he seemed keen to continue and let him choose the route. At this sudden triumphant turn of events, the old hound’s one objective was to see if the entrance to den still looked the same. A thrill ran through him as they passed the end of the alley. Gascon cast a discrete eye in the direction of the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of Henri, unaware that a few metres down the road an aged fox terrier had been stopped in his tracks at sight that met his eyes.

Auguste was rarely astonished, but, on this occasion, seriously disbelieving the evidence of his eyes, he swiftly ducked back into the narrow passageway to avoid an embarrassing case of mistaken identity. He hid there scolding himself for his crazy, wishful thinking. How could this glossy, well-fed fellow really be Gascon? Nevertheless, the resemblance was striking enough to want to get a closer look as they approached him, and he wasn’t alone in spotting the old hound’s return.

Gascon was oblivious to all but his immediate surroundings, now made all the more dear for knowing that he was home at last. With his head in the clouds, he didn’t notice that he was also attracting attention from distinctly more hostile quarters.

After waiting for a nail-biting moment to get a close-up of Sophie and Gascon as they passed by, Auguste was left in no doubt that their wandering boy had returned.

‘Who’d have thought it possible!’ sighed the old terrier, misty eyed. Gascon had only been gone a few months, but his absence seemed like a lifetime. Auguste sorely missed having the old hound around. He had taken to Gascon from the word go. Even in their short acquaintance, he’d come to like his quiet, endearing modesty that complimented his own and Henri’s more impish characters.

‘You’ll never believe who’s back!’ cried Auguste. His over-excited voice resounded the length of the corridor, even before he came bursting into Henri’s den to bring his old pal the good news.

‘Whoa, slow down, who’s back?’ grumbled the bleary-eyed cat, feeling tetchy at being unceremoniously jolted out of his beauty sleep after a hard night’s prowl.

‘Oh, come on, Henri, be a sport, take a wild guess,’ persisted the dog, still buzzing with excitement.

‘No idea. Ask me another,’ yawned Henri, doing his best to ignore the intrusion.

‘Okay then, I’ll tell you, but you’d better hang on to your hat. It’s none other than Gascon, and what’s more, he’s looking terrific and, for some reason, he’s walking around the village with Sophie,’ Auguste announced triumphantly, bracing himself for the cat’s jubilant reaction.

Henri shook his head dubiously, clearly unconvinced, by the terrier’s story as it sounded more implausible by the minute, but the final titbit of news about Sophie was enough to spark a little curiosity.

‘Okay, Auguste, let’s consider the odds logically,’ he returned with exaggerated patience. ‘You’re saying that by some miracle, poor old Gascon, who now, incidentally, bears no resemblance to his old self, has ended up back in this very same village and is out walking with Sophie?’

It was the terrier’s turn shake his head in rising frustration to have his news dismissed out of hand.

‘It’s him I tell you,’ he insisted. ‘He passed by right in front of me and I’m sure I caught his scent.’

‘Well I’m sorry, old pal, that’s hardly conclusive,’ reasoned Henri. ‘And on balance you’ve got to admit that it’s highly unlikely.’ Although Henri thought the story improbable, he was more afraid to raise his own dearest hopes that Gascon really had returned to the village, only to have them dashed by mistaken identity. ‘Come on, old chap, what are the chances of that happening. It’s a pretty long shot,’ he stated flatly.

Auguste’s face fell as he sensed his own excitement draining under the reasoned scrutiny of his unusually obstructive friend. ‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ he agreed, his voice trailing off with a resigned sigh.

Henri could never bear to hurt anyone’s feelings and was instantly ashamed to see his most trusted friend looking so crestfallen. ‘Forgive me, Auguste,’ he apologised earnestly. ‘I should have taken you seriously in the first place.’

‘No, it’s quite alright. Just forget it,’ Auguste muttered huffily. ‘I’ve gone off the idea now anyway.’

‘Oh, come on, Auguste, you’ve got me curious now,’ coaxed Henri, doing his best to make amends. ‘You said that you saw Gascon out walking in the village with Sophie, so let’s go and check it out.’

‘Oh, they could be anywhere by now,’ replied the terrier, still prickling and unwilling to be humoured after such a scornful reception.

‘Well, I suppose there’s only one way to find out,’ Henri sighed inwardly, as he dropped down reluctantly from his warm perch, leaving the prospect of any more sleep behind.

Sophie’s new dog was bound to attract attention and it didn’t take long for the news to get around before Gascon was the talk of the village.

‘Of all the luck, the old scruff,’ sneered Pierre grudgingly on hearing the unwelcome news from the band of rogue cats who were currently all over the village trying to extract even more information. ‘Well, don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet,’ he hissed, with a peevish smirk of satisfaction at the thought of letting the unruly feline gang loose on Gascon. His mouth suddenly tightened as a distant memory crossed his mind, linking the old hound and Henri with framing him over some stolen meat. ‘Yes, there’s definitely a score to settle there,’ he muttered with a spiteful gleam in his eye. ‘He can count on that.’

Sophie and Gascon were now almost home after a very successful first outing. At the final turn approaching the house, a big-boned cat sat on sentry duty, fixing the old hound with an intimidating stare clearly intended to unnerve him. It was the same belligerent creature who had waylaid him in the alleyway near the fountain when he first came to the village. The cat must have recognised him and followed them back home hoping to catch him out again.

Gascon’s fragile confidence faltered for just a moment, but he returned a bold gaze that didn’t betray his inner fear. He was no longer the same timid outcast, always at the mercy of such heartless bullies. It was suddenly brought home to him that having someone of his own who cared for him, gave him the confidence he needed to contend with any spiteful tricks. Up to now all his fears and insecurity had kept Sophie at arm’s length, but, little by little, she had become his family.

He looked up at her tenderly for the first time, his eyes shining with a rush of gratitude. Sophie only caught the tail end of his glance as his head lifted proudly in her direction. She smiled, feeling honoured to share the beauty and private dignity of this modest creature, whose bearing was as graceful as a deer when he felt relaxed. He was her beautiful, extraordinary boy, who, having spent his entire existence in the company other dogs, couldn’t be expected to fall in effortlessly with her own domestic life.

‘Come on, boy,’ she said, deciding that he’d had enough for today. ‘Let’s get you home for tea and then you can have some time outdoors to yourself.’

Sophie knew how Gascon loved going off on his own into the garden in the quiet of the early evening and she didn’t want to intrude on his routine. But, as he disappeared into the undergrowth that particular evening, Gascon had other things on his mind as he rambled off down the valley. His whole life had been transformed by the revelations of the day, and now the prospect of seeing his old friends again had become a matter of urgency. The old hound heaved a frustrated sigh at not being able to satisfy his curiosity there and then, but consoled himself with the fact that they were bound to meet up soon in such a small village.

Chapter Sixteen Word of Gascon’s return had eventually spread to the far reaches of the village, where once the old hound had been ambushed by a pack of yapping dogs whose owner had brought about his eventual capture. Needless to say, the news of his return would not be welcome in this neck of the woods.

‘Would you believe it, that old scrounger’s back,’ cried the sour old villager, greeting his son as he walked through the door after a hard day's work.

Serge blinked in confusion. He’d been out all day and must have been among only a handful of people who hadn’t heard the news about Gascon. Accustomed to his father’s generally uncharitable view of the world, experience told him that his remark could be reference to either man or beast.

‘And a very good evening to you too, father,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘And to which old scrounger are we referring?’ he enquired politely, resigning himself to the grisly account.

‘You must remember,’ the old villager replied irritably. ‘It’s that old hound we caught hanging about the shed and carted off to the pound.’

Serge shared none of his father’s prejudice. ‘No, it can’t be,’ he laughed off the idea. ‘That dog will be living somewhere miles away now and good luck to it.’

‘I tell you I’ve seen it, and it’s the same dirty hound that attacked my dogs,’ the old man insisted.

Serge accepted that his father had become set in his ways, unbending in his belief in the timehonoured traditions that governed the treatment of stray and working animals. Although he thought it highly unlikely that the dog in question was Gascon, this was as good a moment as any to broach the subject that had been occupying his mind concerning the hound's welfare, since finding Gascon. ‘Look dad, we’ve had this out before,’ he reasoned. ‘Whether it is that same dog or not, the poor creature was not naturally aggressive, he was just lost and hungry and desperately in need of help.’

‘Stray animals are rivals for the scarce food we have,’ replied the old man turning an obstinate eye on his son. ‘They are a nuisance and need to be discouraged. I know you think me hard, son, but that’s just the way it is.’

‘Well, just because it’s always been that way doesn’t make it right, does it dad?’ he reasoned, determined to air his viewpoint. Serge’s rural upbringing had kept him close to his ancestral roots, and he was proud of the knowledge that had been passed down the generations. He respected his father’s defence of their heritage, yet his recent experience with the stray hound had left him feeling torn and uncomfortable. It was hard to accept practices based on old unquestioned ideas, that had eventually developed into a widely acceptable disregard for an animal's quality of life.

‘Admit it, dad, the hounds are the tireless backbone of the hunt, yet afterwards they are left alone, board and hungry for days on end. We can’t continue to ignore our failure to put their well-being at the heart of our traditions. They deserve a better life for what they do for us.’

‘You have to be practical, son, they need to be kept keen to help us manage the boar population or it would run out of control,’ returned the old man unwaveringly.

Serge remained silent. His father was not a man to be easily persuaded, and his view was representative of a massed rank and file of hunters with the same mindset, drawing on inherited practices that were the root cause of poor animal welfare. These were traditions of long-standing, accepted as the cultural norm across a whole social network. According to his father, theirs was a community where hunting was an accepted fact of rural life to a whole generation who resisted outside interference in their local traditions. Privately, Serge had seen a change in social values coming and he admitted to himself to having mixed feelings on the ethics of the hunt. But, in an effort to make headway with his father on the issue of the hound’s welfare, he let his own conflicting thoughts on such a sensitive and problematic subject rest for the time being, leaving those better qualified to comment.

‘I’m not arguing the importance of the hunt to countryside management, dad.’ Serge conceded, choosing his words carefully. ‘But can poor animal welfare be justified by clinging to ways that cause needless suffering?’ He accepted that everyone should be allowed to voice their opinion and had no intention of offending or underrating his father’s contribution just because they didn’t see eye to eye. Besides, as things stood, the fate of the hounds in their care depended on the goodwill of the likes of his father, who represented root and branch of the hunting community.

‘I’m only trying to suggest small improvements to their care, dad, by developing methods that are not against, but in addition to, the old ways of thinking,’ Serge persisted. ‘Surely accepting new ideas is as important as defending old ones. I’m certain that if we put our mind to it, we can rethink ways to preserve their keenness with kindness. Why can’t it be both?’

The older man shook his head impatiently, refusing to entertain the idea that any changes were necessary. It was his opinion that such newfangled nonsense would start a breakdown of their time- honoured conventions and that wouldn’t get them anywhere.

‘Well, I can’t sit around here talking all day when there’s still work to do,’ he said jumping up, abruptly changing the subject. ‘By the way, it looks like Sophie has landed herself with that old scrounger, so at least that’s something in his favour,’ he added, stomping off morosely.

Serge smiled at his dad’s receding back. He knew it would take more than a few words to influence the improvement of animal welfare standards in his father’s generation. A shift in attitudes would need to take place at both local and national levels. They were dealing with firmly entrenched practices that would require the will to adapt and look at things in a different way before they were even on the starting grid. But for now, Serge had to be satisfied that he’d got across the gist of the argument to his father, making a start at nudging him in the way of opening his mind to new ideas.

On a more encouraging note, Serge was pleased to hear that Sophie was back in the village. They were old friends who had spent many childhood summers together. He was intrigued to see this new dog of hers and made up his mind to go straight round.

Gascon cocked an ear at the gentle knock on the door, followed by footsteps in the hall and snatches of conversation. Raising his head from the snug patch by the fire, his ears pricked up at the sound of a voice that sent his mind racing back to the old shed in the woods. He recognised it at once as being that of the man who had been kind to him at that time.He let out a howl of delight. Alarmed by the noise, both Sophie and the visitor rushed into the living room to find Gascon on his feet, prancing with delight. Serge caught his breath at the sight of the old hound, who greeted him like a long-lost friend.

‘Well, who would have believed it possible,’ he exclaimed in amazement. ‘It really is you, old fellow,’ he chuckled, bending down to scratch the hound’s ears, before turning to explain to Sophie how their paths had already crossed.

‘This is the poor dog that dad and I found living in the old shed in the woods,’ he began, relating his account of the circumstances that led up to Gascon’s abrupt departure. ‘Dad shut him in there and came back for me. The poor thing was close to starving and must have been lost and roaming for ages. He was wild with fear at the time so there didn’t seem to be any other option, but to take him to the Animal Rescue Centre,’ he admitted, looking ruefully from one to the other.

Having met Serge’s father, Sophie sympathised with her old friend, visualising what must have been a traumatic experience for all involved.

‘What an extraordinary turn of events,’ she shook her head in disbelief, ‘But at least that explains his sudden change of mood when we were out walking in the village. He’s normally so shy and retiring, I wondered why he seemed so keen to go on. I had no idea at the time that he’d recognised his surroundings and wanted to see more,’ she chuckled, still marvelling at the coincidence.

After the first flurry of excitement, Gascon satisfied himself by sitting close to Serge, guarding his old friend who he’d thought was gone forever.

‘I’m sorry you had to go through such a terrible ordeal, boy,’ Serge murmured soothingly, ‘But you’ve certainly landed on your feet, coming to live here with Sophie,’ he smiled, taking in the cosy basket sitting by the fire, while rubbing the old dog’s ears. ‘I couldn’t have wished anything better for him myself,’ he added, offering grateful thanks in her direction.

‘Yes, he’s certainly earned the right to some happiness at last,’ replied Sophie thoughtfully. ‘But I’m sorry to say that history has not treated working dogs very kindly. Proper care and attention has always fallen short of what they deserve for poor creatures who have no say in the matter.’

Serge nodded in complete agreement, surprised and heartened to hear someone else speak so ardently on their behalf. It was obvious that he and Sophie were of one mind. Their adult values were now at variance with certain rural traditions they had inherited in childhood. Neither could allow so much unheeded suffering to continue to go on unnoticed.

‘I can understand the fear of change.’ said Sophie, sympathising with her neighbour's proud traditions and hard-won security. ‘And we can’t underestimate the value of the wisdom that has been handed down through the generations, but, even so, it can’t be used as a barrier to considering new ideas that reflect current animal welfare concerns.’

‘You’re right,’ agreed Serge. ‘It’s all about priorities. The problem is the failure to put the animal’s day to day well-being firmly on the agenda. If we’re ever going to improve the lives of the hounds, it’s going to be down to the will of each member of the hunting fraternity to accept that change is necessary.’

‘I know it’s tough to let go of certainty,’ Sophie sighed, ‘But nothing stands still. Over time attitudes do change and surely it’s not asking the world to make small changes, such as better housing, bigger runs, and regular food and exercise. That would make a world of difference to countless thousands of working animals.’

‘Well, count me in to help start the ball rolling,’ enthused Serge, stopping to pat Gascon before getting to his feet. As he made to leave, the old hound followed him anxiously to the door, reluctant to let go of the first person ever to treat him kindly. Sophie looked at Gascon with concern. He had obviously formed a strong attachment to this man in their brief time together.

‘Don’t worry, boy,’ she said, giving him a reassuring hug, ‘Serge isn’t going away this time.

You’ll be seeing him again very soon.’

Turning to go, Serge hesitated, ‘It’s just an idea, but when you get round to thinking he might benefit from some company of his own kind, you couldn’t do better than enlisting the help of that steady old chap, Auguste.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ Sophie replied, casting a thoughtful eye on Gascon. ‘He’s been so nervous, I was giving him time to settle in, but perhaps I have been a little over-protective and besides, given what you’ve just told me, it’s more than likely they’ve already met.’

Chapter Seventeen Henri had finally been persuaded of Gascon’s identity, and now both he and Auguste were as anxious to see their old friend as he was to see them.

‘Look, Auguste,’ complained Henri, pacing nervously around his den, ‘common sense dictates that we won’t find Gascon just roaming around town alone now that he’s living with Sophie. We need to devise some sort of plan.’

‘Come on then, mastermind, let’s hear what you’ve got up your sleeve,’ demanded the terrier, feeling annoyed by the speed of his impatient friend’s sudden about turn.

‘Well, If I’m not mistaken, isn’t there a small shed just opposite Sophie’s house?’ Henri queried, stroking his whiskers. ‘Gascon is almost certain to come out for a stroll before bedtime. We could hide in there until dark and then quietly hop over the wall into the garden to meet him,’ suggested the cat, fixing his friend with a look of daring.

Auguste considered the merits of hanging about in the dark, on the off-chance Gascon might put in an appearance and shook his head uncertainly.

‘It’s a plan of sorts, I suppose,’ he considered doubtfully, ‘But we’d have to wait ages for it to go dark at this time of year, and, if I recall, that wall is extremely high,’ he added as an afterthought, casting a significant glance, comparing his own stubby legs to the cat’s long, sinewy limbs.

‘What we need is something foolproof,’ he decided pointedly.

‘Oh I see,’ huffed Henri, smarting at his friend’s derisive comment. ‘Well, you’re the one with all the bright ideas. What else have you in mind?’

‘I’d be inclined to take the guesswork out of it,’ answered Auguste, with his steady take on things. ‘We need to find a vantage point, somewhere in the likeliest spot to watch Gascon’s movements, then, once we’ve established his daily routine, we can simply arrange to bump into him out on his walk.’

‘But all that’s going to take forever,’ wailed Henri, who always wanted things done yesterday.

‘Well over to you then, old chap,’ cried the exasperated terrier. ‘Have you got any better ideas?’

Henri felt frustrated, devising a plan to see Gascon was proving more complicated than expected.

At this rate there was no telling how long it would take to meet him. ‘Oh, come on, Auguste give us a clue, he appealed to his friend. ‘You’re much better at this than me.’

‘Well, if you want to see Gascon right away, there’s nothing else for it but jumping up onto a window ledge and looking in,’ replied Auguste with more than a note of impatience in his voice.

‘At least that will satisfy your curiosity and give us all some peace.’

Henri looked doubtful. ‘Er… hold on, old chap,’ he gulped, rapidly losing his nerve. This cloak and dagger approach was getting riskier by the minute. ‘I think might be going a bit too far. I was hoping something less dramatic. You’re right, perhaps we should keep working on the detail.’

The two friends were spared making any further plans, as, the following morning, Sophie decided to take Gascon on a visit to see Auguste. Almost as soon as they set off, the amount of interest Gascon was showing along the way told Sophie that he knew where they were headed.

As they neared the house, it became even more obvious from the increasing strain on his lead that he recognised the terrier’s scent. Auguste just happened to be turning into the lane, ambling back on his way home from his customary morning visit to the den. As soon as he spotted Sophie and his old friend making their way towards his door he let out a shrill howl of joy. Gascon didn’t need to look round, he would have known that voice anywhere and returned it with his own yelp of pure delight. An ecstatic reunion ensued, with Sophie looking on in wonder as the two dogs leapt about barking and frolicking around, nuzzling and sniffing each other as if their lives depended on it.

‘So, I take it you two have already been introduced?’ she said, laughing out loud at the riotous din that brought Auguste’s owner to the door.

‘What in the world is going on out here?’ he grumbled to himself, hovering on the doorstep. ‘Oh, it’s you, Sophie.’ he cried, beaming with delight to have a visitor. ‘And this must be the new dog I’ve heard about,’ he added, frowning dubiously at the strange hound causing all the commotion.

‘I have such fond memories of gentle old Dax. I do hope this one knows what a lucky boy he is.’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure he does,’ Sophie assured him, smiling at the still cavorting animals. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s quite a story. Gascon had been lost for a while and was seen wandering around this very village a few months ago. That’s when he must have been befriended by your kind hearted Auguste.’

‘Oh yes, the old boy’s good like that, helps any waif and stray,’ declared his proud owner, gazing at his beloved terrier with obvious affection. ‘Well, when they do eventually come down to earth, you must come in. I dare say we’re all going to need a drink!’ he sighed, worn out by all the excitement.

Before the dogs parted, it had been agreed that all three friends should meet in Gascon’s garden the following morning. They arrived to find the old hound peering around impatiently, as if willing them to appear. After the previous day’s exuberant reception, Auguste was content to stand back and let his feline friend have the limelight. Since being told about his meeting with Gascon, Henri had been fuming that his friend had got in before him. Yet, now coming face to face with Gascon, Henri was so overcome with emotion at the miraculous change in the old hound’s appearance, that he could think of nothing sensible to say.

‘Well, what a turn up, eh?’ was all he managed to utter, before his eyes filled with tears of joy at the sight of the glossy coat and radiant eyes. He’d secretly feared the worst, believing that the already rail-thin dog would come to a sorry end if he persisted on treading such a dangerous path all alone.

Gascon met his friend’s gaze in wordless wonder, staring at the improbable sight before his eyes as if in some a wonderful dream. Auguste rolled his eyes indulgently at their tender reunion.

‘It’s rare you’re lost for words, Henri,’ he jested. ‘Come on, lads, this is no way to welcome back the long-lost traveller,’ he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

‘Yes, you’re right,’ agreed Henri, happy to be diverted. He’s back and that’s all that matters.

Looking at him now, who’d believe what he’s been through!’

Gascon was the last to open his mouth, still floundering at a loss to find the right words. He needn’t have bothered, as all his thanks and apologies were waved away by his two friends who were overjoyed to have him back and wanting to get the party started.

‘How about showing us around your garden, Gascon,’ hooted Henri, now fully recovered and raring to go.

‘Thought you’d never ask,’ whooped Gascon, getting into the spirit of things. ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he yelled over his shoulder.

Sophie couldn’t help laughing at the comical sight of the three animals careering off joyously into the undergrowth like spring chickens. ‘You’d think they were too old for all that,’ she chuckled to herself, feeling a deep sense of gratitude at the extraordinary turn of events.

She’d hoped that in time, Gascon would find contentment in his new surroundings, but privately dreaded the possibility that he might continue to pine for his old life with Bruno. But now that he was back among his old pals again, he was bounding with joy and, from the look of it, the feeling was mutual. Sophie lingered for a while, tracing their riotous progress through the violently erupting undergrowth. The garden had a spectacular view across the wide, forested valleys to the distant snow-capped peaks twinkling in the spring sunshine. No matter how often she looked, she was always gripped by this timeless vista, allowing her gaze to meander down the pristine fingers of snow that, even in springtime, still sat deep within the crevices of the mountain sides.

Gascon had launched off at a strapping pace to his favourite spot on the wilder slopes facing the far mountain ridges. On the outskirts, the garden was edged with deer fencing to protect the orchard and plants from the voracious attention of the herds of magnificent roaming creatures.

The old hound slowed down to catch his breath, waiting for the others to arrive. They drew up breathing heavily, gulping in great mouthfuls of the clear mountain air.

After a short rest, the group set off again, with Gascon guiding them much more slowly towards the point where the mountainside began to show its true nature. They picked their way along a steeply sloping bank leading towards a craggy outcrop that encircled a pool of ice-cool water filtering through from the rocks above. They all clambered down to the crystal pool, lapping noisily in the shady hollow. While the two hounds cooled off on the flat bare rock, Henri gazed around, soaking up the tranquil beauty of the mountainside, before tucking his paws beneath him with a sigh of satisfaction.

‘Wow, this is some place, Gascon,’ Auguste remarked approvingly. ‘Your very own plunge pool!

Great way to cool off during all those long hot summers to come, eh,’ he winked playfully.

‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ agreed Gascon, pleased to have something of his own to offer in return at last. ‘We can come here for a dip every day if you like,’ he added shyly.

Henri rolled his eyes in mock horror at a dog's enthusiasm for water, but he was secretly revelling in their pleasure, knowing he had never been happier himself, than at that moment.

‘I’ve no idea how you managed it, Gascon,’ he said, staring around rapturously, ‘But you’ve really hit the jackpot coming here to live with Sophie. How on earth did it happen?’

Gascon looked apologetically at each of his friends, deciding to spare them the more harrowing details of his time in the forest. ‘I know it was a mistake to set out from here against your advice,’ he confessed gloomily. ‘I’m not proud of the decision, but it was a risk I had to take.’

‘Oh, Gascon,’ Henri cut in, his voice trembling, as he pictured the scene of his friend wandering all alone in the wilderness, ‘We never gave up hope, but, to be honest, we both feared the worst.’

‘Well, I’m ashamed to admit that you were right,’ continued the old hound, wanting to make a clean breast of it. ‘It was only the thought of your support and friendship that kept me going during those terrible days, and, in the end, it was the beacon of hope that drew me back.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Gascon,’ cried Auguste, springing up in defence of the old hound’s courage. ‘Anyone who’s not native to the conditions in that hostile environment wouldn’t have had a fighting chance out there on their own. It’s a miracle that you survived at all.’

‘Yes, it was a magnificent feat of endurance, Gascon,’ enthused Henri, brimming with praise.

‘But you were both right,’ insisted Gascon, ‘I can’t deny that it was pretty heavy going. The hazards of just surviving each passing day warned me that I was totally out of my depth roaming about alone in the forest,’ he admitted. ‘But there were some memorable bits too. I met some real characters and had a stroke of luck joining up with a local hunting pack who gave me shelter for the night. It was being around them that made my final decision to come back… home,’ he mumbled almost inaudibly.

‘Don’t be silly, Gascon, of course this is your home,’ Henri reassured him wholeheartedly. ‘You have no idea how overjoyed we are to have our long-lost friend back with us, but you still haven’t told us how you came to meet Sophie?’

Gascon shivered, as his thoughts raced back to that terrible time when Serge had left him alone at the Rescue Centre.

‘The final straw came when I’d accepted my mistakes and was on my way back here,’ he explained briefly. ‘I recalled passing an old, disused shed on the outskirts around here somewhere, thinking it would be as good a place as any to make into some sort of shelter. My

plan was to lie low during the day, and then creep into the village at night to rummage about for what food I could find. I was hoping to see you both out in the woods from time to time, but I promise that my return would never have endangered the den. That’s the reason I could never accept your invitation, Henri.’

‘That would have been a miserable existence, old chap,’ interrupted Auguste, shaking his head.

‘Anyway, you wouldn’t have much chance of scoring any food with those rogue cats about.

They’re all as thick as thieves. You should know from experience how they band together against outsiders.’

‘There’s no need to explain your reasons for leaving to us, Gascon, we always knew that you meant well,’ cut in Henri, impatient to hear the rest of the story.

‘I found a well-hidden shed,’ Gascon went on. ‘It was little more than a broken-down hut and open to the weather in places, but, just to be sure it was empty, I watched quietly from a distance for a while. I thought I’d been cautious, but no sooner had I gone inside than the door was slammed shut and barred from the outside. I heard muttering and recognised the voice of the old man who’d accused me of attacking his dogs. The rest is history. He came back with a younger man with a gentle voice who treated me kindly. He put me in his car and took me to the Animal Rescue Centre That’s where I’ve been all this time until I was adopted by Sophie.’

‘I suspect that would be Serge,’ said Auguste, glancing at Henri for confirmation. ‘He’s a close neighbour of mine and his father has a few small dogs. The son is a nice fellow. He and Sophie are childhood friends.’

‘Really!’ exclaimed Gascon. ‘So that explains why he turned up at Sophie’s house. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him again and I think our amazement was mutual. I like him a lot,’ declared the old hound, voicing an animal’s instinctive sense of innate kindness.

His friends added their own praise of Serge for his part in their happy reunion, before lapsing into companionable silence as they all lay dozing contentedly together, each lost in their own thoughts.

‘Well, duty calls,’ Henri announced at last, doing his best to make light of the unhappy prospect of returning home. He still made his daily escape to the relative peace and safety of his den, but he had to show his face at the bakery from time to time to earn his all-important keep.

‘How’s life at home, Henri?’ enquired Gascon, sympathetic to what he knew of his friend’s situation.

‘Oh you know, the usual spats and clashes,’ replied Henri dismissively. ‘Pierre is still as mean as ever, he obviously enjoys giving me a hard time. He’s not content with his own bit of the house, he’s forever laying claim to mine as well. He and his shifty gang of characters have become a well organised team, guarding and patrolling what little food there is. They lie around pretending to be asleep, but they’re always on the prowl for mischief. It’s becoming a lot harder to get to the

den nowadays,’ he concluded, with a resigned sigh, trudging off down the path for his next tour of duty.

‘Henri puts on a good show, confided Auguste, as he prepared to leave, ‘But he has a hard time of it at home with Pierre always spoiling for a fight. All the village cats are as crafty as each other, but Pierre is something else. He has spies everywhere poking their noses into other peoples’ business.’

‘Henri doesn’t deserve this,’ cried Gascon, bristling with indignation. ‘He befriended me when no one else spared me a thought and I’ll do anything I can to make his life easier.’

‘You’re already helping more than you know, Gascon,’ said Auguste earnestly, ‘Henri was beside himself with joy when he heard you were back. He’s grown so fond of you and spending time together with you here in this little bit of heaven is more than either of us ever dreamed of.’

It was now getting towards the time when Auguste knew that he would be missed. He started making tracks for home, setting off along the warren of alleyways at a nimble trot, not suspecting that he was about to cross swords with the ill-natured feline gang in question.

As he rounded the next corner, he found his way barred by a hostile welcoming committee. Their leader was a well-fed, sturdy-looking animal in contrast to the rest of his scrawny crew, who were mostly homeless cats, feeding themselves on whatever scraps they could find.

‘Well, look whose here,’ snarled the large brown striped cat, eyeing the terrier shrewdly.

From its size and small pointed ears, the cat bore strong similarities to its near relation the wildcat.

‘A little bird told me about the company you’re keeping these days, Auguste,’ he hissed, with a cruel grin. ‘I’ve heard that you and soppy old Henri think you’ve got it made, hanging out in Sophie’s garden, guarding your scruffy pal,’ he continued, curling his lip in distaste. ‘But he’ll have to show himself sometime, and when he does we’ll be waiting to welcome him, won’t we boys?’ he drawled, raising a laugh from his sniggering pals.

Auguste’s foremost thought was to keep a cool head and try to bluff his way out of a very tricky situation, but, hearing their sneering laughter, he felt his muscles stiffen involuntarily.

Confronted with this menacing gang of cats ranged across his path, fierce outrage welled up inside him, causing his hackles to rise in blazing anger at the injustice of being cornered. The cats started to exchange looks of alarm as Auguste grew in stature, their eyes widening in horror as they watched the hound’s expression change from fear and uncertainty to a boiling fury that revealed the steely, fierce terrier he was bred to be. With yowls of terror, the other cats scattered in all directions at the shear hostility of the unexpected outburst. But the big tabby cat wasn’t giving any ground.

Auguste glared at the big bony cat. ‘Trust me, that was only the deposit,’ he snarled through bared teeth. ‘Rather than playing your pathetic little games and stirring up trouble, you and the

rest of your villains should be helping to feed these poor, half-starved cats, instead of getting them to do your dirty work,’ he bellowed hotly. ‘You’d better warn your so-called friends that, from now on, they would do well to leave us alone. Have I made myself clear?’ he roared thunderously.

The big brown cat stood quietly calculating, attempting to stare out Auguste, but he knew there was cause to fear and quailed inwardly at the merciless conviction in the old dog’s eyes. Even though they’d had the element of surprise in their favour, the terrier had called their bluff. He’d effortlessly foiled their well-tried method of attack, leaving the cat in no doubt of the outcome of any future encounter. Salvaging what little dignity he had left, he turned on the dog with feigned nonchalance.

‘Oh, come on, Auguste, lighten up,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘It’s all in a day’s work. Some of us have a reputation to keep up you know,’ he quipped, fancying himself something of a wit.

Auguste wasn’t laughing.

‘That’s right, add insult to injury,’ snapped the terrier, glowering at the retreating back. ‘And if you want my advice, I’d leave the jokes to someone else,’ he yelled for good measure.

Now the danger had past Auguste felt shaken by his own anger. Since his retirement, all he’d ever asked for was a quiet life, but, watching his fighting spirit come to the rescue, he was truly amazed to find there was life in the old dog yet. ‘Seeing them all off at my age,’ he chuckled hurrying home. ‘Who’d have thought I still had it in me, but I think they got the message,’ he said with a steely glint in his eye.

Chapter Eighteen Sophie and Gascon were now regularly joined by Henri and Auguste on their daily rambles.

The sight of the unlikely foursome drew a few curios glances at first, but soon the happy band became quite a hit with the villagers, who were always ready for a word with Sophie. She was equally delighted to share in the evident amusement everyone found in their bizarre company.

After a while, it was becoming noticeable to Sophie that Henri seemed to be growing more reluctant to leave, lingering a little longer in the garden with Gascon each day. She had a good idea what this meant and would love to adopt the long-suffering cat to complete the family, but, knowing that he already had a home of his own, she felt that she must do nothing to encourage it either way. Given a cat’s independent nature, she hoped that, in time, he might decide it for himself.

Henri had been feeling unsettled for some time now, giving way more often to gloomy thoughts about the future. It had come on gradually. Ever since asking Gascon to be his housemate, the need to escape Pierre and the idea of setting up home in the den had taken hold in his heart. His daily visit to Gascon’s garden was a much-needed haven of peace and quiet where all his troubles melted away. It was becoming harder each day for him to return home. Both Gascon and Auguste had noticed it too, privately sympathising with their friend, as they witnessed his reluctant exit.

‘Henri’s getting too old for all this dodging about,’ declared Auguste, voicing his concern when the cat had gone home. ‘He can’t cope much longer with Pierre always spoiling for a fight. It’s wearing him down.’

Gascon agreed. No matter how hard Henri had tried to conceal his troubles, the old hound had been sadly aware of how downcast his friend had seemed since his return. Nudged by the broad hint dropped by the wily old terrier, the answer was suddenly staring him in the face. He jumped up bursting with excitement.

‘Of course! I’ve got it, Auguste!’ he announced triumphantly. ‘Henri must come and live here with us!’

‘Now that’s what I call a sensible idea, Gascon,’ Auguste nodded gratefully,’ relieved that the old hound had taken his cue. This was a promising first step, but he knew how stubborn Henri could be where his duty was concerned, and warned Gascon that it was by no means a forgone conclusion. ‘You know what a loyal character he can be, Gascon,’ Auguste cautioned anxiously.

‘It’s no use expecting him to go peacefully, but I still think the suggestion will be better coming from you.’

Gascon fretted all night, feeling restless and unable to contain his excitement. More than anything, he wanted Henri to move in with them, and, noting Sophie’s obvious fondness for the old cat, he knew there would be no problem on that score. But Henri could be obstinate. The old hound fumed with impatience for their arrival, wanting to get the interview over with, but, when the two friends appeared looking hot and bothered, he suggested they stroll down to the shade of the icy pool to cool off. They all stretched out as usual in the shady hollow, listening to the

distant cry of the birds drifting in the hazy thermals. But Gascon was too on edge to settle today.

He lay fretting, waiting until Henri stirred at last, flexing his long limbs luxuriously after a welcome snooze. Prompted by a significant glance from Auguste, Gascon drew a deep breath to calm his nerves, before deciding to go for the direct approach.

‘Look Henri, I’ve been thinking it over,’ he began earnestly. ‘Things can’t have been easy for you at home living with that bully Pierre. What would you say to coming here to live with Sophie and me? You would be more than welcome, and you already know how she dotes on you.’

Henri sighed at the divine prospect of living with Gascon and Sophie, but he had to face the facts of the altered situation. Gascon didn’t really need him now, and he wasn’t the sort of selfish character to abandon his obligations to a decent master who had taken him in when he was homeless.

‘Thank you, Gascon,’ the cat smiled, not permitting himself to indulge the idea for a moment longer. ‘If only it were that simple,’ he replied woefully. ‘Living here with you and Sophie would be a dream come true, but, while I still have work to do at home, I must accept my responsibilities.’

It wasn’t the promising start his two friends had hoped for, but as usual, clear-sighted Auguste was ahead of the game, playing devil’s advocate, with what he hoped would be some solid reasoning.

‘Hang on, Henri, let’s not dismiss this thing out of hand.’ he proceeded logically. ‘You’ve performed your loyal duties for years, even surviving the minefield of challenges thrown at you.

Let’s be honest, old chap, basically, you’re only the live-in help. It’s not as if you were chosen as a family pet, is it? They needed another cat for the bakery and you were in the right place at the right time.’

‘Hey, hold on, Auguste, that’s a bit strong,’ cried Gascon, springing up in passionate defence of his dear friend’s pride. ‘It was a lucky day for the baker when Henri turned up on his doorstep.

Who wouldn’t value the loyal services of such a dutiful fellow?’

‘It’s okay, Gascon,’ chuckled Henri good naturedly, ‘Dear old Auguste was never one to mince his words, and he’s right of course, but that still doesn’t mean I can simply disappear. Come on boys, let’s talk about something else, he pleaded, wanting to change a painful subject.

‘Still, you’ll have to thinking about retirement soon, old chap,’ persisted Auguste, refusing to be put off.’ It’s not as if you’d be leaving them in the lurch, so you’ve no need to worry on that score. Pierre can call upon any one of that motley crew he calls his friends to fill your shoes.’

Henri could endure no more. Getting up to leave, every muscle in his body felt taut with misery at the endless struggle of his daily life at home with Pierre.

‘It’s easy for you to say, Auguste. You’ve always had a secure and loving home,’ he cried out in anguish. Don’t you think I want to live here? Your invitation means more to me than you know, Gascon,’ he said turning to the old hound with deep longing in his voice, ‘But it’s not in my hands. I can’t just foist myself on Sophie and neither can I overlook my duties at the bakery.’

The two dogs watched their staunch old friend as he marched off home, grimly resigned to his continuing sad existence, regardless of his own best interests or feelings.

‘I’m afraid that didn’t go down too well, Auguste,’ apologised Gascon, disappointment written all over his face. ‘Just as you predicted, it’s not looking too hopeful at the moment,’ he added gloomily.

Trusting himself to have a shrewder insight into the mind of old his friend, Auguste was of a different opinion. He’d seen for months that Henri was tiring, and that it was only a matter of time before he’d have to decide to move on, before Pierre decided it for him. Although Henri didn’t know it yet, Auguste mused thoughtfully, the timing of Gascon’s return was heaven sent.

‘Don’t despair, old chap.’ he nodded sagely towards the worried looking hound, ‘It was only to be expected, but, trust me, it won’t be long before you’re sending the porter down for his bags.’

Chapter Nineteen Sure enough, Auguste had successfully forecast the outcome of Henri’s dilemma, but even he could have had no idea of the speed of events. Now that all the talk about Gascon had died down, it came as no surprise to see the familiar foursome strolling around the village together. The very next day they were spotted by the baker himself, who came running out of his kitchen to meet them, chuckling to himself at the sight.

‘So that’s what you get up to in your spare time, Henri, you old dark horse,’ he greeted them cheerfully.

Sophie met the baker’s smile a little apprehensively in return, uncertain of their reception in the face of his cat’s increasingly prolonged absences from home.

‘He seems to have taken my nervous old dog under his wing as his self-appointed guardian,’ she explained, looking down fondly at the old cat, while mentally searching for a way to introduce the possibility of Henri taking on the job permanently.

To her relief, the baker’s reply answered her silent thoughts. From a practical viewpoint, the need for speed and efficiency in the work place left no doubt in his mind that Henri was getting a little past it to be of the much help around the bakery. And, despite the old cat believing that no one noticed, he had always sympathised with the scorn and disrespect he’d suffered on a daily basis living with Pierre.

‘Seems to me that Henri has taken on a new and important role, perhaps one more suited to his gentle nature,’ he added tactfully, suspecting that hunting had never held much fascination for this peace-loving creature.

‘I’ll not stand in his way, providing you’re happy to have him, and he wants to move out, of course,’ he added quickly, making it sound more like Sophie was doing him a favour, than the other way round. Neither party could have asked for a more mutually satisfactory outcome. They shook hands smiling with delight, before turning to share the news, ruffling the coats of the bewildered animals, who didn’t know what to make of all commotion. The baker disappeared momentarily, promptly returning with Henri’s sparse belongings stuffed into a bag.

‘Here’s to a well-earned retirement, Henri,’ he said to the old cat, handing the bag to Sophie, with something bordering on emotion. ‘At least from now on your life is going to be more peaceful,’ he added sympathetically, patting his faithful friend with evident fondness. ‘I’ll let that rascal Pierre choose your successor from his host of young pals, and maybe that way we’ll all have some peace,’ he said heaving a sigh of relief.

Never having had this much attention from the baker, Henri looked up at him dubiously, unsure what to make of it all. The three animals hovered in confusion, until Sophie put the bag down on the ground, allowing her four-legged companions to examine the contents. As they gathered round, the familiar smell of the old cat’s bed and food bowl told their own story. The two hounds reached the same satisfying conclusion in unison, exchanging private looks of triumph.

‘Looks like you’re moving out, old chap,’ whooped a jubilant Auguste.

Henri remained silent. His natural caution was unwilling to allow him to credit such a miracle.

Believing that it was too good to be true, he stared in confusion at the assembled company, still unable to grasp the full meaning of the situation.

‘Will someone please tell me what is going on?’ he appealed to his friends, still afraid to make any rash assumptions.

‘You tell him, Gascon, he’ll listen to you,’ said Auguste, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Gascon immediately suppressed his own excitement, understanding that Henri needed calm reassurance. Despite the fantastic news, the rapid turn of events, and sudden exit from his old life, was bound to have come as a shock to the old cat.

‘It’s true, dear old friend,’ he explained, misty eyed. ‘You’re now officially retired with the baker’s blessing. Come on, Henri, let’s go. Time to go home at last.’

Finally persuaded of his good fortune, Henri instantly felt the intense relief lifting a burden from his shoulders. With his head in a delirious whirl, he trotted after the others in a haze of pure happiness that brought the sparkle back to his eyes and a spring in his step. As they made their way home, the daily parade through the village had now become a muchanticipated spectacle for some of the older inhabitants, drawing them out of doors with indulgent smiles as they passed along. This afternoon’s particularly high-spirited performance, created more than its usual amount of amusement, and raised a few puzzled eyebrows. Surrounded by the frolicking animals, Sophie regaled her neighbours with the good news about Henri.

Amid nods of satisfaction and much well-wishing they continued on their way, soon to be joined

by Serge making his own way home in the same direction.

‘Hi there, is this a private party or can anyone join in?’ he hailed cheerfully, falling into step alongside Sophie. The delighted animals clamoured around their old friend, including him in the general euphoria. Unable to conceal her own delight, Sophie immediately told Serge the good tidings about Henri’s adoption.

‘It was all over in a flash,’ she shook her head disbelievingly. ‘The baker said that Henri had always been a loyal servant but agreed that he’d done his bit. It couldn’t have worked out more perfectly,’ she beamed.

The news of Henri’s retirement and change of abode came as a relief to Serge, as it echoed his own concerns about the ageing cat.

‘I was only thinking the very same thing the last time I was in the bakers,’ he exclaimed, wide eyed with surprise at the coincidence. ‘Anyone could see that poor old Henri had a lot to put up with, contending with the endless goading from that bully Pierre. This lucky boy is in for a well-

earned retirement now though, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer chap,’ he cooed, stooping to stroke the adoring cat twining round his ankles. Their happy mood was infectious, and soon, good-natured Serge was as caught up in the celebrations as the rest, directing the merry party as they capered back and forth through the narrow alleyways in the late afternoon. Sophie followed on more sedately, quietly observing the miraculous change in Gascon. She’d hoped this was how it would be, and for her, the old hound’s new-found trust and confidence was reward in itself.

‘I won’t be sorry to get this giddy lot back home after the all the excitement though,’ she sighed, her mind already busy with preparations to welcome the unexpected arrival of her new family member.

Once through the garden gate, Henri stood a little apart from the others in silent thanks. He still wasn’t quite able to grasp the idea that glorious scene before him was now his new home. The rest of the group went discretely about their business, giving him time to adjust to the sudden change.

With the approach of evening, Sophie went indoors to light the log stove and lay Henri’s basket in the corner next to Gascon, in order to have everything ready for his first cosy night at home.

After a long noisy drink, the two hounds, worn out by over-excitement, settled down for a serious nap on their favourite bit of grass in the shade of a tree just outside the open door. Serge stood contentedly, drinking in the view across to the far mountain peaks, glowing luminous in the late spring sunshine. Henri, meanwhile, had silently crept away to seek the security of his friends, curling himself up tightly in a ball between them.

Serge turned a wistful gaze on the quietly sleeping animals, feeling a bitter-sweet pang of remorse to be reminded of the hard road they’d travelled to find some long-awaited contentment.

The sound of ice cubes tinkling against a glass recalled him to the present, as Sophie reappeared carrying welcome refreshment.

‘No one looking at him now would believe what that old Gascon has been through,’ he murmured softly, marvelling at the chain of events that had led to his being rescued by Sophie.

Casting a motherly eye over her little family, Sophie shrugged modestly. ‘I think I’m the lucky one,’ she replied sincerely. ‘He’s had a tough life and I just want to make his world a better place from now on.’

‘You never did stand by like the rest of us,’ replied Serge, recalling childhood memories.

‘Remember that injured wild boar piglet we found at the side of the road when we were kids?’ he chuckled, determined to give credit where it was due.

‘Am I ever likely to forget it,’ Sophie shuddered, rolling her eyes in horror at the memory of its explosive reaction towards her attempts to move it out of harm's way. ‘Fools rush in, I know,’ she said with a rueful smile, ‘But I couldn’t leave the poor little thing where it lay to get run over again. It was so badly injured and squealing in terror that nothing could be done to save it,’ she sighed sadly. ‘All I could manage to do was encourage it to move away from the road to prevent any more suffering.’

‘But you stuck at it, and that’s more than the rest of us were prepared to do,’ admitted Serge, raising his glass in salute.

‘Anyone would have done the same,’ Sophie shook her head dismissively, more interested in savouring the peace that descended on the valley at that lovely time of day. Gazing across the mountain slopes to the distant horizon, she recalled the happy times she’d spent there with her old dog Dax and looked forward to the years to come with Gascon and Henri by her side.

Turning to go indoors, she glanced down on the animals sleeping contentedly, feeling honoured and thankful for the way things had turned out.

‘Come on Serge,’ she said, beaming with satisfaction. Let’s leave them to it.’

Lost and friendless, Gascon, a shy hunting hound, sets forth on a perilous trek across snow-clad mountains in search of home. Afraid to sleep at night as the nocturnal animals come out to feed, by day, he lives in constant fear as dangers stalk in on the slopes. He is met with discouragement at every turn, until, in one village, he is befriended by a kindly old cat who offers him a home.

Timid Gascon is grateful, but prefers to take his chances in the forests he knows well. Spurred on by the baying of hounds, he comes across a hunt in full swing and gets caught up in the chase to save the lives of a wounded deer and her young during the hunt. Weary and world-worn, Gascon seeks security in a disused shed, but it’s a trap that leads him to an Animal Rescue Centre. Yet, despite his gruelling ordeal, Gascon wins through to enjoy some long overdue kindness in a new home.

The author based this loosely on a true story, following the adventures of an animal that rarely cared much about consequences.