Paw Prints in the Moonlight (12 page)

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Authors: Denis O'Connor

BOOK: Paw Prints in the Moonlight
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That night we were reminded intermittently of the bees' former presence as, sitting by the fire after dinner with Toby languishing in my lap, there came periodically a sszzzzzzzzzing down the chimney followed by a zitzzz as a dying insect landed in the fire. It seemed that those bees too overcome by the fumes to escape the chimney stack with the rest of the swarm were now expiring and dropping down the chimney. For the first few buzzes and zitzzes Toby Jug lifted his head, ears pricked intently, to identify what was happening, then as the sound became commonplace we both relapsed into a restful snooze amid hopes that the morrow would bring a happier day. The episode of the bee invasion
was over and we could contentedly relax. It had been a harrowing experience.
 
It was the final day of the summer term at Alnwick College. The setting of examinations, the marking of exam scripts and the endless committee and qualification board meetings had served their ritualistic purposes to the full. Now, and for the next ten weeks, the college would be closed and the Duke of Northumberland's castle would belong solely to him, his family, the tourists and, of course, the ravens. I was greatly relieved to be going home to the peace and quiet of the cottage after the hectic term that had just finished. I arrived home to find one of my colleagues, Diane Forester, who taught Art and Craft Design, waiting for me at the entrance to my drive. As I got out of the car to open the gates she rushed forward and began speaking urgently as if she had no time to lose.
‘Sorry that I didn't catch up with you at college,' she said. ‘I got your address from the office. Could you do me a real big favour and look after my horse, Fynn, for the summer? She's no trouble really and I believe you rode her a few times when she was at Moorgate Stables.'
Somewhat taken aback by this full-frontal approach I stared at her with apprehension, while she had a look of anxiety doubled with desperation. She looked genuinely all hot and bothered. Obviously, she was experiencing some
kind of emergency otherwise she wouldn't have come to me as we really didn't know each other at all well. In the meantime Toby Jug was pacing up and down, rubbing himself against my legs and trying to remind me that it was his dinner time. I invited Diane into the cottage and got the whole story whilst I fed Toby Jug.
The following day she was due to go on holiday abroad for several weeks with her family. Unfortunately, the arrangements for the care of her horse, a dark grey Connemara filly which I rode a few times before she bought her, had fallen through and someone at the college had suggested that I might be able to help her out. I could see that she was on the verge of tears as she sat on the edge of a kitchen chair clutching a handkerchief tightly in her fist.
‘Of course I'll pay you for your trouble,' she began and I waved dismissively with embarrassment. I told her that as I didn't intend going away this summer I was prepared to look after her horse to the best of my ability. With that her eyes suddenly lost their intensity and heaving a sigh of relief she sat back in the chair and accepted the cup of tea I offered her.
Then she noticed Toby Jug who, having finished his meal, was busy washing himself. She leaned forward and stroked him but he wasn't sure of her and swiftly moved away to lie down by the door. I had noticed before that cats tend to avoid people acting nervously.
‘Fynn was very fond of the stable cats at Moorgate,' she said as she groped for something to say. Toby changed his mind and leapt on her lap for some strokes. He didn't stay there long, though, and I felt that Diane was much relieved because she commenced assiduously brushing down her light-coloured skirt and examining it for cat hairs and paw marks. I was relieved that she didn't find any as I gently nudged Toby with my foot out through the open patio door and into the garden. Then she changed back into hurried mode and, fishing in her handbag, handed me the keys to the tack room and a sketch map of the location of the field in Denwick where Fynn was stabled.
‘I really am most awfully grateful,' she said. She'd got what she came for and didn't know how to leave without giving offence. I decided to help her out. ‘You'll no doubt have a lot of packing and arranging to do,' I ventured.
Her smile gushed relief. Springing to her feet she grabbed her car keys from the coffee table and said, ‘Yes I have. I must be off. Thanks for the tea.'
This must have been no more than a politeness since I noticed her cup was still full to the brim on the coffee table where I'd placed it. I followed her out to the car, slightly amused by her agitated manner. Before she sped away she called out to me from the open car window: ‘Ride her just as much as you like. Regard her as yours for the next six weeks. Thanks again. Cheerio!'
Her inky blue-black Jaguar hummed as she drove away.
‘Now what have I done?' I said, pacing the garden as Toby Jug frolicked around my feet. He loved these accompanied walks around the garden and was longing to show me the special places that he'd discovered that day, like the hedgehog's nest of dried grass and fern where she was rearing three piglets and the broken remnants of starling's eggs under the lilac tree. But tonight I was wrapped up in my own thoughts and didn't pay much attention. I had other things on my mind, like what was I going to do with a horse for the next six weeks.
The dawn next morning was so full of sunshine that it woke me by shining through my bedroom window at around five a.m. I find sunbeams seen through the leaves of the trees especially appealing in the early morning and the sight invited closer inspection. Once outside I sat for a while, enjoying my first mug of tea and the clean fresh air. It had rained overnight and as the breeze shook raindrops out of the trees they sparkled like jewels in the sunlight. The urge to get up and savour what promised to be a glorious summer day had been too strong to resist even though it was so early. Toby Jug was an exuberant early riser and always keen to be involved in everything that was happening. He was particularly excited in the morning whereas I took a while to surface. For my part I was thinking about the practicalities of caring for the horse and deciding what
we could do together over the coming weeks to relieve the boredom of carrying out the repetitive chores of feeding, exercising and mucking out the stable as well as all the household and garden jobs in the cottage. Still, it was great to think that the day belonged to me and that I could forget about work for a few weeks.
Later that morning, accompanied by Toby Jug, I set off in the car to find out where in Denwick village the horse was waiting for us. The village is in reality a hamlet and travelling by car it is easy to bypass without realizing it. After driving to and fro several times, and making hasty consultations of the sketched map, I eventually found the entrance to a long field flanked by tall hedges of overgrown hawthorn and beech. At the far end of the field, under a huge spread of horse chestnut, stood Fynn in perfect pastoral repose.
After parking the car and leaving a more than slightly miffed Toby Jug shut inside with, as ever, the window slightly open for fresh air, I walked to the gate and tentatively whistled an invitation to Fynn. At the sound, she turned her head in my direction, took a momentary look and then resumed her relaxed pose. She obviously hadn't recognized me. Sighing with misgivings at the task ahead of me, I unlocked the tack room in search of a rope and bridle. Walking slowly down the field towards her, she again glanced my way, rolled her eyes and trotted off to a far corner of the field. This was going to be harder than I thought.
About an hour later, with sweat running off me, I led a roped, bridled and frisky horse up the field and tethered her to the stable door. By this time a frantic Toby Jug was jumping from one side of the car to the other in a state of apoplexy at being left out of the proceedings. Feeling guilty, I retrieved him from the car and introduced him to Fynn who gave a whinny of greeting but also surprise as Toby leapt from my arms and settled comfortably on her back just below the withers, between the shoulders. Fynn turned her head, gave Toby Jug a long look, snorted and bobbed her head up and down a few times in approval and then resumed standing quietly as I combed her tail.
‘Well I never would have believed it,' I exclaimed to myself as the two of them obviously hit it off from the very beginning. Diane Forester must have been right about Fynn liking cats and I had thought she had just been making conversation. Sometimes the behaviour of animals really amazes me. The idea of Toby Jug taking so readily to a horse hadn't crossed my mind as a possibility but then he was so unusual that I should have expected it.
The rest of the day was spent with Fynn and I getting to know each other. I rode her around the field, schooling her to my way of riding and generally familiarizing us with each other. I left a confused and somewhat jealous looking Toby Jug to sniff around the stable and later to watch us forlornly from the roof of the tack room.
Back at the cottage that evening I was in good spirits, having enjoyed the day thoroughly. Fynn was a fine horse, gentle-natured and, once she'd got used to me, easy to handle. I like horses and horse-riding has always appealed to me. With Toby Jug resting peacefully on my lap I got to thinking and had a brilliant idea, or so I thought at the time. It was partly stimulated by the sense of freedom that holiday time brings on but also by the weather forecast on the radio that predicted a prolonged spell of good weather with high pressure systems coming our way. I found the desire to be outdoors and into the countryside an irresistible temptation. Nursing the idea secretly to myself I thought what a surprise it will be for Toby Jug when he finds out. Our life together would soon be taking a more adventurous turn.
My idea was to take Toby Jug with me on horseback to camp for a few days in the Cheviot Hills. I could take full advantage of the fine weather and also Diane Forester's offer to ride Fynn as much as I liked. It would also do me the world of good after spending so much time indoors at college on office administration. However, there would be some serious planning to do if the trip was to be a success. Transporting Toby Jug on horseback would present a major challenge but I thought I might have a solution if I did decide to take him with me. The alternative of leaving him at my mother's or a cattery was unthinkable. Anyway, he was sure to get wind of my intentions and if he thought he was
going to be left behind he would be inconsolable. If it was possible, I wanted to have him with me. Life with Toby Jug was good fun most of the time and, after all, he deserved a holiday as much as I did.
Setting out to find the supplies I needed necessitated a quick visit to Rothbury, a market town situated over the moors from Alnwick. The main street in Rothbury stretches up a hill on each side of which are all manner of shops. I was looking for one in particular, an archaic leather goods shop, a veritable storehouse of Victoriana that sold antique and second-hand items, including old-fashioned objects for horses and carriages. I wondered if the shop would still be there or whether it would have been by now turned into a snack-bar or coffee shop. It seemed ages since I'd been across to Rothbury, which is such a picturesque town.
Thankfully, the shop was still in existence. After spending an hour or so rummaging amongst old street lamps, various bridles and saddles and even rat-traps, I found what I'd been looking for: a pair of large saddle bags of burnished mahogany leather with strong brass fasteners which I bought for the bargain price of £3.10 shillings. The prize find was a set of twin picnic panniers, in basket weave with leather lids, made to be carried by a donkey, which I reckoned could be adapted to stretch across the back of a horse in front of the saddle. They would be exactly right for packing some food and drink on one side and Toby Jug on the
other as long as Fynn didn't have a tantrum. The panniers were covered in dust and cobwebs and there was a small hole in one of the baskets but I was delighted and cheerfully paid £1 each for them.
Leaving Rothbury behind and delighted with my finds, my next stop was the Army & Navy Supply Store in Alnwick where I equipped myself with a double size sleeping bag for extra comfort, and two lightweight survival tents with a free battery-powered hanging torchlight thrown in. I also bought a mess tin, a billycan and a set of ‘field' cutlery. Now I was ready for what I hoped would be an adventure.
The night before we were due to leave I caught the bus from Alnwick across to Denwick and rode Fynn back to the cottage for the night. There I bedded her down with some hay and horse nuts and tethered her to an iron ring in the wall of one of the stone outhouses which was open-sided and in which she could find shelter if necessary. Toby Jug was fascinated by all these goings-on and made himself comfortable in the pile of hay near Fynn. For a while I thought he'd deserted me to spend the night by Fynn's side but when bedtime came around he hastened inside to join me as usual.
 
I slept only a few hours that night and mostly lay awake imagining everything that could go disastrously wrong with the trip. The sun again woke me and I lay dozing a while,
listening to the morning birdsong which served to relieve some of the tension. I was nevertheless glad to be up and about at around six to complete the last minute preparations. I hate waiting about and was eager to get underway. The Horse Transport had been booked for ten that morning and was to take us as far as Alwinton to give the expedition a good start. It arrived an hour late and Fynn refused to go in the horsebox.

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