4 July 2012
'Stop pulling Bosun! Whatever's wrong with you today?' she scolded the bulky terrier. He glanced up sheepishly and slowed a little. Rosie hated the noise and volume of traffic, it was so much nicer how it used to be. Aware of her age and failing sight she was fearful of crossing the busy road. Bosun would usually wait patiently at the crossing by the traffic lights - but not today. Today his eagerness drove him lumbering forward, pulling his companion with him. There was a scream of brakes and a sickening thud. Rosie dropped the leash, frozen, wrinkled hands covering her face, not bearing to look. The dog lay in a heap, his barrel-like sides heaving. The young driver, his face white as sea salt, sat shaking behind the wheel. Traffic stopped, concerned passers-by gathered and, just for a moment, a strange stillness and the cry of gulls.
A deep menacing growl made the circle of onlookers draw back and the stricken bull terrier struggled to his feet. Some brave soul handed Rosie the lead and the pair made unsteadily for the safety of the far pavement. 'We'll be alright now, I'm so sorry'.
Bosun was taking loud rasping breaths, though still stumbled painfully onward toward his goal. Rosie was sure his ribs were broken, that she should get help, but she felt weak and dizzy. The injured animal's will seemed stronger than her own.
Eventually Rosie collapsed, exhausted, on the familiar bench by the quay. Bosun, for the first time, never took up his vigil by the water's edge. Instead, with a bellow of pain, he clambered onto the bench beside his mistress and laid his head on her lap. Gradually the laboured breathing became a whisper and the heaving barrel-like sides were still.
It was a silent Autumn morning, not a breath of air stirred the trees. A thin shroud of mist hung over the river Blackwater and duck and geese came in waves from the west. The flying russet sails of a smack barge pierced the sky, billowing, skimming the quiet surface, her old apple cheek bow slicing the mist. She made no wake. From the deck Rosie could hear a gruff joyous barking like that of a faithful dog whose master had come home.
The old lady was sad and her cheeks were wet with tears, but inside she was warm and shining.
TOM MAY
THE VIGIL part two • Opuss № I