“What would you do?” I asked Hunter the cat.
Hunter looked at me then returned his gaze to the pink sky of sunset. He was worried. I was worried. We were both anxious about the two of our flock who had gone missing when my back was turned, some time between petting the llamas and giving all the farm animals their last feed of the day. Admittedly, I had not given Malachi and Jaz as much attention as usual but with good reason because I was engrossed in painting my recent commission. At one point in the afternoon Malachi had tapped me with her paw on my bottom and rested her head against my thigh; I should have recognised the signs of boredom and perhaps anticipated the consequences… but I was too busy to pay much heed.
Naturally, I thought that the runaways would return to the fold in their own time; in fact it seemed to me that it would be a short time considering that Malachi was still recovering from her misadventures with a splintery stick yesterday and Jaz is rather old, overweight and chesty. Nevertheless, an hour or so later I saw their two black tails sticking out above the long grass as the dogs ran joyously across the upper part of the steep field next to the farmhouse (where grows the most picturesque of trees).
“Malachi, Jaz,” I had called but they ignored me.
Not eager to climb the steep hill, I preferred instead to cook my piece of steak for dinner. Funnily enough, I had lost my appetite when I saw it on my plate, and I cut the steak into smaller pieces to be divided between Malachi, Jaz, Sasha and Hunter the cat.
So Hunter and I were looking through the doorway at the reddening sky; it would be dark soon – in around half an hour. I thought of the story of the good shepherd who would give up his life for his lost sheep (though I hoped that would not be necessary) and I changed into my stout trainers.
Hunter led the way as far as the wooden fence where he stayed, maybe to keep a lookout while I walked on up into the fields above the farm.
“Malachi, Jaz,” I called again and again.
It was getting quite dark and I feared that it would soon be so dark as to be dangerous coming back down the field. Suddenly Malachi came bounding across the field, no doubt overwhelmed that I had left my painting and any other farm duties in order to find the missing lambs.
“Where’s Jaz?” I asked. “Lead me to Jaz.”
I had visions of Jaz, worn out and practically dead, under ones of the trees on the skyline; and I thought Malachi had come to fetch me to save her. (Obviously, I have watched too many “Lassie” films in my time!)
So delighted was Malachi that she immediately presented me with a stick to throw. Slightly shocked that she hadn’t learned her lesson from yesterday’s ordeal I threw the stick down beside me and she looked remorseful.
“Take me to Jaz,” I urged and the faithful Black Labrador led me even higher up the hill and across to yet another field.
I climbed up to the barbed wired fence at the top and stopped – I didn’t believe that poor old Jaz would have been capable of such a climb, even under the thrall of the younger dog. But from my vantage point I saw a beautiful sight – Jaz running toward me from the other side of the adjacent field.
We made it down the steep slope alright in the semi-darkness. Now, their wanderlust sated by their long escapade and their hunger somewhat appeased by my leftover steak, the errant ones are back with the flock. Bless them! All are asleep, except for me, and now this is finished I can join them.
