Wilson is seventy two. In dog years, that is. In people years, he’s eight. At his age, he should be languishing by the fireside on a nice, soft pillow while eating dog biscuits. But fate hasn’t favored him. For as long as can remember, Wilson hasn’t known a caring family, warm bed, or easy-to-come-by food.
Instead, chill morning mists dampen his shabby reddish gold coat as he limps toward the docks. His fur would be beautiful if brushed, but there is no one to brush it. He limps because his nails have grown so long that they are underneath his paws, digging painfully into his pads with every step. Sniffing the air, he swings his head so his one good eye can see the fishing boat before him.
There are scraps on the boat, left over from the fishing expedition the day before. Not much, but enough to tempt a half starved stray dog. Without hesitation, Wilson scrabbles into the boat and laps up every tidbit he can find.
He doesn’t even realize the fishermen are coming back until too late. While the men cast off, he has no choice but to hide in the shadows. As he watches the land dwindle until his eye can hardly see it anymore, he lets out an involuntary whine.
“Mangy mutt! Trying to steal my work, eh?” One of the men abruptly turns to him, scooping him up by the scruff and tossing him out of the boat as if he’s had to do the same thing countless times before. To the fisherman, he is simply garbage, a waste of space. Worse, because he would eat the man’s fish if given the chance.
Wilson’s paws flail as he soars through the air, and then start paddling to the surface furiously as he hits the water with a splash. Salty water sloshes up his nose and stings his good eye – his poor eye is ablaze with fiery pain. Though he tries to dog-paddle after the boat, it has sails to aid its escape, and soon he can no longer see it among the bobbing waves.
But which way should he go now? There is no land anywhere, and his long furry coat and ears are weighing him down in the water. It’s all he can do to keep his nose afloat, and sometimes he goes under, breathing in more water and almost choking.
He has two choices: give up to the vast expanse of churning water that’s just waiting for its chance to swallow him up, or keep paddling. It would be easier for him to let the tugging waves have him, let himself be taken away from the world that has no use for him, but his will is strong. He keeps swimming, despite the ever persistent water around him.
There is nowhere to go, but he goes. There is nothing to live for, but he lives. For two days, stranded in the middle of the sea, he survives. When rescuers find him and bring him to shore, he slips into a week long slumber.
Because of his multitude of medical issues and all the salt water in his ears in stomach, no one thinks he will survive. Again, he proves the world wrong. He lives to be taken to Whitecourt Homeless Animal Rescue Foundation(WHARF). There, Janet Talbott falls in love with him when his story breaks her heart in two.
After adopting him, she whispers in his ear, “You will have the life every day that every animal deserves.” Kissing the top of his now glossy head, she adds, “You will receive love on a daily basis.”
http://news.discovery.com/animals/mexico-stray-dogs-121301.html
I love the twist of having a dog as your main protagonist. See! Even in nonfiction, such things are possible. Nicely done.
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