3. Eight Months Later
Jack noticed his springer spaniel, Riley, starting to walk oddly as they hit the gangplank to his canal boat,The Grey Goose.
The early morning walk across the icy meadows had been without incident.
And though Jack had nearly slipped to the ground a couple of times, Riley had — as usual — shown no concern about the treacherous conditions and the bracing wind.
These last few weeks had been as cold as Jack had ever known it in Cherringham — so bitterly, relentlessly cold that even the river itself had started to freeze.
But now, he watched Riley limping and knew something was up.
Usually, at the end of a walk, Riley would have dashed up and down that plank half a dozen times, as if eager to be out of the cold as much as Jack. But now he took the incline of the plank carefully, slowly, obviously favouring his left front paw.
“Hey boy, something wrong there?”
Riley looked at Jack as if wanting to answer.
“We’ll get inside, out of the cold, then take a look, okay?”
Riley had been his dog ever since he’d come to Cherringham. In fact, Jack couldn’t imagine living herewithout Riley on the boat, always ready for walk, a run. And, on the warm days, a vigorous game of fetch.
If there was anything seriously wrong, Cherringham had a good vet, just at the far end of the town. Always good for Riley’s shots, and the occasional check-up.
Careful not to slip on the icy deck, Jack opened the door to the boat’s saloon, and Riley immediately — and uncharacteristically — went to his pillow bed, and curled up, as if hoping whatever was bothering him would just goaway. But Jack pulled a wooden chair from his small table close to Riley and his bed, and crouched down low.
“Okay, boy — just gonna take a look at that paw, right?”
Riley kept his head firmly nuzzled into both front paws and the pillow itself.
Jack reached down, very gently unentangled that right front paw, then raised it a bit. Riley made a small noise — not of protest, Jack thought. Just a sound indicating there was some pain there.
Jack slid out
