Ted McBain kept a tide chart sellotaped to his fridge door, so he could set his day around the low tide times. The dog had a very long stride and loved to stretch its legs on the wide, flat sand, but at high tide there were only pebbles. Ted liked the beach at any time, it was why he’d moved to Bulverhythe when he retired, but low tide suited him so he went with the dog’s preference.
By coincidence the dog was also called Ted, its racing
name had been Teddington Court. Ted the man had acquired Ted the dog because he
had decided that he wanted to adopt a greyhound. He’d always bet on the dogs,
ever since his dad had taken him to Catford Greyhound Stadium in his teens.
When he first retired to the house on Bulverhythe
Road, he’d owned a short haired, brindle dog called Dougie, whose breed was
possibly cairn terrier but mostly uncertain. Dougie had been older than Ted, in
dog years and after Dougie died, Ted had walked down the road to the Bull Inn for
a consolatory pint. Dougie was missed there too, Claudia behind the
bar always kept bowls for special canine customers like Dougie, who had enjoyed
his terrier sized pint.
Conversation around the bar turned to dog breeds and
which sort of dog Ted should get next. There was no thought that he might not
want another dog, so Ted kept quiet and let them all get on with it. When the
talk turned to greyhounds, he’d begun to listen and was horrified to hear that
after their racing careers were over, many dogs were discarded, shot or put to
sleep.
‘I’ve always felt sorry for them poor things,’ Claudia
had said, ‘it’s just awful them being stuffed into those tiny boxes then forced
to chase a hare that isn’t even real and have you seen the bloke who walks five
lovely old greyhounds in Alexandra Park, I chatted with him a while back and one’s
called Lulu and there’s Sandy and Dusty after all them singers and he obviously
cares for his old racing dogs, now they got lovely lives…”
Ted had switched off Claudia’s chatter, but that had
been the day he decided to adopt a greyhound. After some research, he took a
train to London then the tube to some kennels at Wimbledon and was disappointed
to be told he couldn’t take a dog home straight away. He was expecting to do paperwork
and pay a fee, however the woman was very apologetic, but she couldn’t let him take
the dog on the tube to Charing Cross then the train to St Leonards, it wasn’t
suitable transport for highly strung dogs.
Ted had been allowed to meet several dogs in case he
liked any of them, and he decided it had to be the dog called Teddington Court.
Quite apart from his name, he had a dark grey, slightly brindled coat and a
white chest and throat, very like Dougie’s, and at the sound of
Ted’s voice his tail had wagged vociferously and his huge, dark eyes looked
joyful.
Ted managed to persuade his niece, Mandy, to help him
collect the greyhound in her car, in return later for a slap-up meal at La
Bella Vista, which made him wince as he put it on his credit card. He had spent
all his spare cash on fees and extras for the dog.
The kennel had sold him a dietary chart, several boxes
of particular greyhound food and they even persuaded him he must buy one of
their special harnesses for Teddington Court, who they said had a narrow head,
even for a greyhound so would slip the smart, black collar Ted had bought
specially. They even tried to sell him a tartan overcoat for the dog, but there
Ted put his foot down. He said he would get a coat for the dog in the autumn,
when it actually needed one, not in summer when it didn’t.
Now, in February, Ted the dog owned two coats, which
had cost Ted the man less than half the cost of the one that the kennels had
proffered. The early rain had stopped at just the right time for the tides, so
Ted waved the brown woolly coat at his dog, who stood up from the blanket among
the cushions on the sofa, tail wagging. The cold, damp wind called for the waterproof
coat over the woollen one, which was a struggle on the excited dog. Finally
successful, Ted pulled on his own parka and opened the door. He had long since
realised that his greyhound was perfectly calm and needed neither harness nor
lead to keep him under control, though Ted kept a lead in his pocket, just in
case. Teddington was very content to walk close to his side unless Ted gave the
word, then the dog could go from stationary to full speed in the blink of an
eye.
They walked along the residential streets and past the
small industrial units to Bridge Way. Next came the only part of the walk that
the dog disliked, this was the crossing of the railway line running alongside
the beach, which meant ascending the metal stairway up the footbridge. The
noise of its toenails, as Teddington clattered across the metal, combined with
the ringing of the whole structure as Ted’s heavier tread set it in motion,
scared the dog every time. The first few times Ted had almost had to carry the
dog up the steps. However once Teddington had discovered that, on the other
side of this terrible bridge lay the delights of the beach, the dog became less
contrary.
But today suddenly became one of his contrary days. Just
as they were about to set foot on the bridge an early train from Eastbourne rattled
and clattered underneath, it was a small train, only two carriages but enough
to panic the dog. He cowered behind Ted and no amount of urging would make him
move. In the end Ted lifted him up awkwardly, feeling the trembling body
through his own coat. The dog’s long front legs trailed over Ted’s shoulder and
it's head pressed against Ted’s neck. With his arms around the animal’s
hindquarters Ted struggled up the harsh metal steps before disembarking him with
huge relief onto the top step.
Urging the dog on, Ted crossed the bridge and
descended to the wooden platform on the other side, the dog never gave any
trouble going down. The tide was far out, sand gleaming silver under a bright
grey sky and the dog’s ears pricked up, the perils of the bridge forgotten. The
beach looked empty, it was still early and anyway the biting wind would keep
most people away.
Once on the sand Ted gave the signal that the now
prancing dog was waiting for, just a simple flick of his right hand and
Teddington Court was off like a cheetah chasing a gazelle, although he needed
nothing to chase, he ran for the sheer joy of it. Ted watched and admired as he
paced himself along the shining sand, there was no way he could compete and
anyway, his back was protesting after his efforts on the bridge. Greyhounds are
large dogs, despite their slender appearance.
Teddington Court was now a dot in the distance, Ted had
come to rely on the animal to return to him. But for the first time, it didn’t.
Cursing aloud, Ted trudged off in slow pursuit. Inwardly he felt he was
sinking, perhaps the dog wanted to leave him, or worse still was taken by
somebody. Thoughts of ‘what if…” clouded his mind as he trudged, eyes scanning
the beach and the path that ran beside the rail track.
In the distance he could see a long, dark rock on the
beach, near the water’s edge. He didn’t remember seeing it before, the tide
must be even lower than usual. Then he heard barking, Ted the dog never barked,
so now he was fearful that his shy greyhound was being attacked by another dog.
As he neared the rock, he realised what he was hearing was his dog, who was running
in circles around the rock and barking with excitement.
He called out, “Ted, come here! Come, boy!”
The dog stopped running, but continued to bark, more
quietly now while staring at the rock, his head lowered. As Ted walked around
the rock to reach his dog, he realised there was a rotting smell, must be some dead
fish somewhere, quite a lot of them. Then he saw the eye, grey, sunken and
oddly small, in the side of the dark rock. It was a whale.
Ted waved his hand in front of the sad, grey eye, but there
was no response. He stood and watched the leviathan, in case there were any
other signs of life. He was standing on the windward side now, but then he
remembered the rotting smell. It was definitely dead.
The greyhound had stopped barking and was looking at
him, tail wagging expectantly. But what should he do? Nothing in his former
life, as a London fireman and later a leisure centre caretaker in Catford, had
presented him with a dilemma like this. The closest had been rescuing a retired
brewery horse from a ditch behind some stables. That had been hard enough, involving
block and tackle and a tractor but the whale would weigh many times more than
even the largest dray horse.
With a struggle, Ted fished his small mobile phone
from his inside jacket pocket and stared at the thing. He hardly used it, had
only bought it for emergencies, did a dead whale count as an emergency? It
seemed unlikely, but who should he report it to? Then it came to him and he
switched on the phone.
‘Good morning, emergency services. Which service do
you require?’
‘Coastguards,’ Ted replied firmly. They should know
about whales if anybody did, and if they didn’t deal with dead whales, they’d
know who did.
By the middle of the afternoon the beach was awash
with reporters and spectators and the two Teds were celebrities. The
Bulverhythe Whale was on TV and Ted the dog famed as its discoverer. The fact
that dog and dog owner had the same name added to the reporters’ delight. Ted
the man was interviewed by the BBC News and was able to put in a small plug for
adopting greyhounds.
‘Couldn’t be a more peaceful dog to have in the house,’
he told them.
When Ted and the greyhound entered the Bull Inn the
following lunch time, they received a small round of applause. He was offered a
free pint and Claudia had a special present for Teddington Court. Ted had
always been careful over the dog’s diet and he was slightly dismayed to see the
present was a large pork pie. He couldn’t refuse the wretched thing, but said
he would take it home for later, if the dog ate it all at once he might be
sick. Claudia understood, she had a shih tzu that was always throwing up, she
wrapped the pie in a plastic bag. Ted stuffed it into the largest pocket of his
parka and accepted another free pint.
Back home, his elderly neighbour collared him and said
there were two ruddy great parcels and where had he been she’d had to take them
in and the delivery man disturbed her TV show and frightened the cats and it
was a ruddy nuisance blocking her hall and blah blah blah. Ted retrieved the
parcels, apologised to her and asked her in for a cup of tea. She eyed the dog,
who stood placidly at Ted’s side, and departed, slamming her own front door.
The first of the parcels contained several packets of
dried dog food, courtesy of a local pet shop, with a note praising, ‘Teddington
our Hero’. Ted had a feeling the dog would probably prefer the pork pie, he
took it out of his coat and put on a plate. He made a mug of tea before opening
the second, larger parcel, which seemed to be anonymous. It contained a brown,
padded dog bed, with raised edges and smart corduroy lining. The dog ignored the
bed until Ted scattered a few pieces of the dried food into it.
Teddington actually seemed to like these treats, he
sniffed them all out and they crunched satisfactorily. He then went
purposefully around the house collecting up all his possessions, three
half-eaten chews, a tennis ball, punctured beachball, large blue teddy – a
present from Mandy - fluffy cushion, squeaky crocodile – a present from Claudia
- a knucklebone, two chunks of well-chewed driftwood and Ted the man’s old
trainers. The dog carefully deposited all these beloved things into their safe,
new, corduroy home, he then climbed up onto his blanket on the sofa and fell
asleep.
Ted sat with his mug of tea and ate a slice of the pork
pie. He’d watched his dog doing its housework and almost laughed as it climbed
onto the sofa, leaving the collection in the new dog bed. Ted switched on the
TV to catch the local news. He and the dog were no longer headliners, but the
whale was still a star. It had been identified as a fin whale, the same species
as had washed up at Normans’ Bay a hundred years ago and was now in the
Cambridge University Museum. The University had also claimed this whale, they
would run tests and experiments. It offered a great opportunity to progress modern
ecological sciences, apparently.
As Ted was washing up, the phone in the hall rang.
‘Good evening, Mr McBain! What a lovely day it’s been!’
It was the woman from the greyhound kennels. Ted greeted her before she continued
to the point. ‘I do hope that Teddington Court is enjoying his new bed. It’s
just a little thank you present to him for being such a wonderful ambassador
for our greyhounds. Please don’t worry about the cost to our charity, it’s surplus
in the shop. We had six and I have to confess they weren’t selling too well, not
a fashionable colour, brown. Anyhow I’m sure that you will be pleased to know
that we have had had six new enquiries from potential adopters since Teddington
Courts’ lovely appearance on the BBC.’
Ted thanked them for the beautiful brown bed and
wished them luck with the new adoptions. He didn’t tell them that Teddington
was fast asleep on the sofa, not in his new bed or that he would be getting
pork pie for his tea.
*
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