Born To Be Wild

Born to be Wild

The skinny little wire-haired dog had never known the warmth of a hearth. She’d never been petted or heard a kind word. Home was a wire pen in a concrete yard, with no shelter from the weather. Each day she was turfed out onto the street, sent to beg or hunt for her food. Yet, as night drew in, she always returned. Her prison at least offered some safety, and it was the only home she knew.

She was six years old when a kindly person came to her rescue and passed her on to me. I loved her the moment I looked into her beautiful dark-brown eyes, pools of humility and sad acceptance. I was surprised that she showed neither fear nor distrust, but neither did she show any pleasure when I fussed her. She was simply indifferent.

I had grown up with dogs who would run to greet me when I came home, so I found it strange that this little dog seemed to have no affinity with humans. But why would she after the years of cruelty she’d endured?

I named her nell and had it engraved onto the tag of her smart new collar and took her on long country walks. I soon discovered that if I let her off the leash I could easily lose her. She loved to run, following a scent and yelping with delight as she chased rabbits and hares - even deer. Keeping up with her was impossible, and as she rarely came when called, I was forced to clip her wings with the leash.

Just two weeks after she was given to me, I got up one morning to find that she had given birth to four healthy puppies. There had been no clue that she was pregnant, apart from a growing, chubby tummy which I had put down to the regular meals she now enjoyed.

I was shocked, of course, but the puppies were adorable and, besides, straightaway I had a queue of friends wanting to adopt one. Homes were found for three of them, but I couldn’t part with the runt of the litter, a sweet little girl I named Pip.

Life had changed for Nell. She was now well fed, sheltered and protected, and in her daughter, she had a companion who loved her unconditionally.

But deep down, she was still a free spirit.

I would catch her staring wistfully across the vineyards towards the hills and pine-covered mountains beyond. Out there was wilderness and even though we walked those paths every day, I knew that for Nell, it was not enough.

One chilly winter morning, just before sunrise, I took the girls for a walk along the track that led out of the village towards the mountains. There was just enough light to make out the windmill perched on a hill beside the sloping vineyard. By the time we reached it, a gentle glow was beginning to wash over the vines.

Nell trotted by my side, piglet-shaped, the colour of a fox, her nose glued to the ground. Although she scampered along like a puppy, the old girl’s legs were stiff. Pip skittered ahead, her four white stockinged legs full of boundless energy.

Nell’s daughter just lives to run, and I wished I could allow her mum the same freedom. But I knew that if I let Nell off the leash, she would be enticed away by intoxicating animal scents and be lost chasing rabbits and hares, yapping with the sheer joy of freedom that I knew she craved.

I looked down, and at that very moment Nell looked up at me and gave a little whine. Her sad eyes were pleading with me to let her go, to set her free to run like Pip.

But I couldn’t do it.

If I let her loose, she would disappear into the world of animal scents. I wanted her safely by my side and after our walk curled up and snoozing beside the fire.

We headed up a stony path tunnelled by trees, surrounded by wild Mediterranean scrub - a mass of herbs, juniper bushes and stunted oaks. The ground was carpeted with straggling tufts of thyme, releasing their heady perfume with every step.

The sun had almost risen when we turned for home. It streaked the sky with soft golds and oranges, creating a watercolour painting of melted ribbons smeared across a charcoal sky. We had almost come full circle when, ahead of us, the windmill came into sight, its outline now shimmering with a misty aura.

Nell began straining at the leash while Pip, free to run, galloped ahead, elegantly leaping and bounding, her tail wagging and twirling - a perfect mixture of balance and glee.

Reaching the windmill, I stopped to admire the view of the village below us. Coils of smoke drifted gently from chimney pots, the fires lit early to warm the old stone houses, their shutters closed against winter’s freezing temperatures. At this time of year, the little settlement was so deathly quiet that it felt abandoned and cut off from the rest of the world. And yet there was something deeply tranquil about it. I had come to love sinking into winter’s solitude here, wrapped in the silence and sharing it with my four-legged companions.

As we moved on, Nell looked at me again and whined softly. It was only a short walk to our house so I relented, I would let her have a little run down the hill to our door and bent down to unclip her.

She was free to run but hesitated lifting her face to mine again and for the first time I saw love in her liquid eyes. My own smarted with the sting of tears, but I was smiling at her, and somehow I knew she was smiling too.

For a long time she didn’t move apart from to turn her head and stare down the lane towards home. I took a few steps forward and urging her on said, ‘come on, old girl, let’s get back to the fire.’

She still didn’t move but her tail was wagging furiously. Then suddenly she lifted her chin and gave a little bark then turned and, before I could grab her, she was off, galloping away from the village as fast as her little legs could carry her.

I ran after her. Pip did too.

I called her.

I whistled.

I shouted.

But she was gone, out of sight within seconds.

Later, I would think of that bark and know it was her farewell.

We searched for her every day. Those days turned into weeks, months, and now, three years later, Pip and I still look out for her on our walks. She knows her way home, she will come if she wants to, but I know she won’t. I know I have lost her forever.

I like to think of her standing on a rock, gazing across the hills at the land she loves so much, relishing her freedom, a happy smile on her pretty face. But one thing I know for sure, I will always remember the look of love she gave me just before she went - the love she had never given to another human being. She had given me her daughter, and at last, she had given me her love.