Rescue Dog Tales. Mikael Lindnord
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For Arthur, my best friend for life
Contents
1.Deep in the Heart of the Jungle
Billy, Ted and Zigge and Camila
3.King Arthur Conquers England
Foreword
From the moment I noticed a tired and hungry dog quietly begging for food in a dusty Ecuadorian village three years ago, my life changed. It changed for the better, and it changed in ways I had never imagined or expected.
The fact that Arthur is now living happily with us as a much-loved member of our family back in Sweden is in huge part due to the groundswell of support I had from people all over the world. People who wanted Arthur to be safe, and for us to live happily ever after – together. Ever since that fateful day and the struggles to save him, those people ask me – on a daily basis – how he is, how he’s getting on, how we are all getting on.
I love talking about my friend (because he is my friend) Arthur, so I was only too happy to succumb to the pleas from everyone to tell the story of what has happened since our first book. In the course of writing, I couldn’t help reliving some of those struggles in the Ecuadorian jungle, so I have written about them a little as well. I hope everyone will bear with me and Arthur in the retelling of the old, as well as enjoy the story of the new.
I also hoped that the story of Arthur’s rescue, and his new life being happy and loved, would strike a chord with all those who are thinking of helping rescue dogs, or who just love dogs. In the event I was amazed by how many people got in touch to tell me their own stories of rescue dogs around the world, dogs who had somehow found their person and made a life together. I hope their stories will be an inspiration too.
Mikael Lindnord, autumn 2017
••• CHAPTER ONE •••
Deep in the Heart of the Jungle
‘Go the extra mile; it’s never crowded there’
The jungle, Ecuador, November 2014
The vegetation was getting even more impenetrable, and more and more mud was sticking to our boots with every step we took. All four of our team were probably as exhausted as we had ever been, and in this business of extreme racing that is an exhaustion that most people can’t really begin to imagine.
I looked down at the new fifth member of our team: a filthy, wounded dog, covered in mud and blood. As he trod slowly through the swampy earth, dragging each paw out of the ground with a visible effort, you could see that somewhere underneath the matted fur was a beautiful golden creature. As we struggled on, side by side, I found myself unconsciously matching him step for step. Not wanting to get ahead of him, because he was clearly finding it so hard to keep up, and yet not wanting to slow down to the point where we had no hope of staying in this increasingly gruelling race.
The Adventure Racing World Championship was – is – the pinnacle of the year for adventure racers. And this race, in the heart of the Ecuadorian jungle, was the climax of months and months of heart-bursting, leg-busting training. Staffan, Karen, Simon and I had set out as a team of four highly trained athletes determined to come in the top three of the adventure racing world, if not in the top one. And yet now, as the captain of our highly trained team, I found myself distracted and preoccupied by the struggling dog by my side.
He seemed to ask for no pity; he just seemed to be quietly determined not to leave my side. All I had done was notice him, talk to him and give him some food. And yet in the intense, feverish atmosphere of the jungle, I felt myself drawn to this struggling creature as he appeared to be drawn to me.
At one point he suddenly disappeared; shot off into the vegetation in search of some creature that only he could see or smell. I told myself that he was probably gone for ever, on some mission that a mere human couldn’t understand, and that I had just been imagining that there was some kind of bond between us. I bit my lip at the thought of never seeing him again. I couldn’t believe that a dog – random, stray, appearing out of nowhere – could have so affected me.
And then, almost as quickly as he’d gone, he was back. Looking unblinkingly at the path ahead, walking determinedly by my side as if he’d never left it.
Perhaps that was the moment when I knew for certain that this dog and I would always be walking side by side.
Örnsköldsvik, November 2015
Bike gloves – check; mosquito nets – check; trekking boots – check. As I laid out all my kit in the sitting room ready for the journey to Brazil and the next championship race, I thought about how this time last year I was making the same familiar preparations for Ecuador.