THE UNLIKELY SAVIOUR

Sleep. I was all too familiar with lounging on my human,

John's bed and grabbing what, to him, was a much-needed shuteye.

For all my laziness, I was loyal to a fault. Like every good canine, I tagged behind John wherever he went and would bare my teeth instantly if he came under any threat. Of course, John adored me for this and often paid tribute (in treats, of course) to our 7-year-friendship.

Lobo is a suitable moniker, considering I ambled at only a snail's pace. With my droopy ears and silly Golden Retriever look, no one would have nominated me as the recipient of either the well-groomed or Most Agile award. I certainly wasn't the Most Intelligent or Most Courageous.

Valentine's Day began like any other day, with John sending customary flowers to his girlfriend, Jenny. I, as usual, displayed a perfunctory tolerance for Jenny; she was the obstruction between John and me. Though I adored John and was a tad jealous of the infernal Jenny, I didn't expect a fire-and-brimstone test of loyalty.

Unusually bored would describe my sentiment that day. I had nothing to do, with John planning to see his better half for most of the day. I lay my lazy bones on the sofa and fell asleep, waiting for John to tear himself away from his partner finally.

My typically lazy, unmotivated self would refuse to do anything when I felt bored or if my mood was foul. People found me more of a dimwit than a devil, so they left me alone.

This day, however, was markedly different. My typically indolent form gained some doggy gravitas. That said, the sudden canine profundity saved my otherwise hapless owner. 

What happened? John, a fine owner as he was, was too oblivious to his surroundings to notice anything noteworthy...

Valentine's Day started like any other, with snaking queues outside MacDonald's and people hoping to secure hearty egg Mc Muffin breakfasts. John could get enough of these breakfasts -he purchased one as though it was a religious obligation every morning. He'd grabbed one for his dutiful girlfriend as well, and they'd eat them before the school day started. I'd tag along like any good dog and wait outside the restaurant while John grabbed the needful. John was hoping to be on time to snatch those with heart-shaped strawberries on the side for the occasion.  

Muffins weren't just muffins that day, and it was just as well that I was with John while he performed his morning routine. I wasn't just a humble, forgettable pet - I was a service-trained Golden Retriever that John's parents had purchased for him when he was a young tot just a few years earlier. Oh, I took my job more than seriously. Protecting the vulnerable was the motto of the proud Goldie breed.

But how did I come to be John's tag-along? And what happened that fateful Sunday afternoon?

John had received an epilepsy diagnosis from his doctors as a toddler. His perpetual nail biting, rolling on the floor and head banging were a constant source of concern for his parents, who were afraid, of course, that he'd bite his tongue.

The situation came to a head when John started drooling and frothing at the mouth. His befuddled parents brought his writhing form to the family doctor. The experienced physician instantly diagnoses epilepsy. Anxious that John would not bite his tongue,the overwhelmed parents scour the internet.

That's when I came into the picture. John's overwhelmed parents, pressed for a way to respond at once should he bite his tongue, sought the advice of a service dog breeder. The process was time-consuming, though rewarding - I came into John's stressed-out but tight-knit family.

There was only one problem. I didn't really like the work -constantly being up and about. I was a bona fide pedigree Goldie Pup -what was required of me was servant's work. I took a long time to respond to the constant calls of John or his beloved parents.  I had no gravitas,  but  loved John and would be there for him the instant he needed it.

Until the fateful Valentine's Day that would prove a test of John's will to live and my gravitas. 

As I mentioned before, I started rambling about my humble beginnings with John; I was waiting for him as he purchased his breakfast from McDonald's, zoning out on the floor and licking my paws as usual.

After a 15-minute wait that seemed like hours, John finally emerged from the restaurant, a satisfied smirk on his ruddy face. The red flush was more prominent than usual, but I chalked this up to the merciless heat of the day. John grabbed my leash, and we started on the path towards his home. 

**********

Part of the relatively short trek home was a secluded cul-de-sac. There was hardly any movement through it, so John's mum always flew off the handles of her pots and pans when she found out that he had made his way there. "John, I'll be beside myself...." "I know, I know, " he'd interrupt and wave her concerns away. "I won't go there, mum. Pinky swear." 

Still, he did. The boy was too tired or lazy to wander through the longer route. I obliged, happy to make my way home in two wags of a Goldie's tail. 

But the walk was to take longer than I imagined. 

**********

Not three minutes into the cul-de-sac, John faltered. His young legs gave way under him and his body started shaking more vigorously than a salt shaker. And, as I looked on, mouth agape in horror, the young boy frothed at the mouth. 

My helpless eyes trained over John as he collapsed, a helpless rag doll, in front of me. Like every good dog, I let waves of panic drown me. It could be an hour before anyone passed through the isolated cul-de-sac; It was a lonely stretch of road. The main road itself was bereft of cars.  I began to pace. I ran up and down the cul-de-sac, unconscious of how the knives of gravel cut my sensitive paw pads. All I could think of was to get help for John, but none was coming. 

**********

I kept walking. And walking. Limping. With blood-soaked paws, I dragged myself across scorching hot gravel. The bleeding and grazes were non-existent; all I could think of was getting someone's attention. 

After about an hour of mindless walking, I collapsed, a hapless heap, on the main road. Dusk was slowly making his unwelcome way in.

"It's going to get too dark for anyone to see him....." my mind whirred faster than a leaping cheetah.

And then I saw it. A passing car. Finally. Uncharacteristic of my pampered form, I took a blind leap of faith. I sprinted, not bothering about the searing pain in my paws,my exhausted self suddenly revitalized, after the roving vehicle.

**********

Everyone loves a canine hero. I did my best.

Now, I may be a Goldie, but I'm diminutive as far as Goldies go. You'd certainly not expect to see Super Goldie who lifts a two-ton truck. Remember that I'm not the most energetic Goldie either, and running after a car isn't my typical modus operandi. So my sudden burst of energy was a total surprise. Where the strength in my normally languid paws came from, I didn't know. All my kibble-filled mind could think of was to run.

**********

I did. As fast as the same languid paws would carry me, becoming the Usain Bolt of the canine world. I'm not sure how I did it, but I sprinted alongside the driver's window.

With the car moving along in a rush and its engine whirring, I leapt against the window, trying to get the driver's attention. Of course, ignorance is bliss. The driver continued on his way, humming to ABBA's Fernsndo on the radio. I toppled along the road a few times, nicely bruised and battered, before the driver realised that something was bumping his window.

"Eh? What's wrong with the car?" The puzzled driver finally ground his car to a halt.

 I mustered my last ounce of strength and bumped his window pane. Hard.

And that was it. I had done all I could for John. My tired eyes saw the driver making a frantic reach for his phone and dialing 911. Finally, thick blanket of darkness.

**********

A wave of nausea enveloped me when I awoke in the Animal Hospital,my drugged and groggy form collapsed on an operating table. An attending vet gently roused me. "Don't sleep too much, boy. We nearly lost you." I opened my bleary eyes after what seemed like an eternal 15-minute struggle and my eyes rested on a familiar figure.

John ran towards me,arms extended. "I'm alright, Lobo, but they wouldn't have found me if you didn't do a Jackie Chan there. Where'd you get that sort of energy? It's just not like you. '

I responded with a contented howl and laid my head on his lap. Still groggy, sleep overtook my sense of relief.

**********

The next day saw my golden form in the lifestyle pages of the Singapore Tribune, a small but celebrated local newsletter.Above that was a cryptic yet apt heading my canine eyes could not read.

Of course it would not escape the notice of John. "Fits you, boy.  You are an unlikely saviour. But I've always known you'd be there when I needed it."

He rubbed my head. I let out a satisfied doggy yawn. That's all I needed to know.