Chapter 2 Even the Dogs …

 

Chapter 2 Even the Dogs …

In which Cúan is followed home by a Great Irish Wolfhound

‘What happened?’ demanded Dermot jumping down off the ditch and hurrying over to his son. Grandad Manus looked down at the ancient hurl in Cúan’s hand and his eyes narrowed “What have you got there?” Cúan shook himself. “I don’t know what happened Dad, one minute I was pulling this stick out of a pool and the next… the next… I don’t know if I must have got sun stroke or fainted.”

Cúan looked at his left hand. It was clenched tightly, with whitened knuckles around the old hurley. Strangely now the hurley looked a brown yellowy colour, stained from the bog. Its surface was still smooth but now there was no trace nor sign of the runes which he had seen covering its surface. It had no metal band, no plastic or cloth binding around the handle yet it felt as snug in his hand as any hurl he had ever handled.

“Finders keepers’ said Dermot. “How did it get all the way out here?” he wondered lifting his son to his feet with relief. ‘Let’s get some water into you. How do you feel?” Cúan hopped up. ’I feel good, actually I feel great, as if I could run as fast as a hound.” ‘What an odd thing to say,’ thought Cúan. “Kids!” jeered his father, but his grandfather said nothing, never taking his eyes off the hurl in Cúan’s hand. His expression was inscrutable, but his eyes showed a wariness almost as if he could tell that Cúan was hiding something. ‘So, no harm done,” said Dermot. “Listen to the great detective!” commented Manus. “It’s getting cold, let’s go home.”

One hundred yards away over by the tree line, the ferns and gorse parted to reveal a massive grey shaggy wolfhound which came padding silently out of the cover. The dog stared solidly at Cúan. Its great red tongue was lolling out of its mouth and it sat on its hind legs with its tail flat behind it on the ground. Overhead the hawk he had rescued earlier returned and gave a sharp screech before flying off due east. The dog looked up at the departing hawk and gave a husky woof and then turned silently and loped lithely back into the woods and out of sight.


Cúan got a shiver as a cloud crossed in front of the sun. What was that about? Deep inside Cúan had always wanted a pet dog. The road he lived on in Clontarf was full of other people’s pets but his parents were dead set against it. His mother was firm her house was not going to be full of dog hairs. His father had too much experience between coming up against criminal’s attack dogs and having animals put down after illegal dog fights. Dogs were lots of trouble, even the dogs in the street knew that. “Sure, you’re the pet in this family,” he joked ruffling Cúan’s hair, “now fetch my slippers and ,hey, use your hands!” Yeah, he was one of ‘those’ fathers who thought he was being funny when he was just being annoying! It was odd but the dog looked exactly like the wolfhound in his dream.



As he threw his new hurl into the back seat of the Range Rover, Cúan wondered at the forest and what he had seen. It made no sense at all. His father took the driver’s seat and his grandfather climbed into the passenger seat.

His father started the engine but Cúan caught his father’s eyes appraising him in the rear-view mirror. “So, what did you two talk about?” Cúan hazarded “School?” “Never you mind, at my age I’m entitled to a few secrets.” replied Manus “And, anyhow, the young lad is not going to be blabbing everything to you anymore.” “Look Dad,” said Cúan, “Grandad and I just click so I don’t know why we have to tell you all about it. Hey, will you make it to my club game on Saturday?” Dermot looked doubtful “I’ll try to make it Cúan but as you know crime never sleeps, so if you could just ask the feuding criminals to take a day off, I’ll be sure to make it.” “Ha…ha…ha” responded Cúan, stressing every syllable slowly and sarcastically. “Very funny, you must think all hell would break loose if you relaxed for five minutes…”

He could tell by his father’s fingers drumming on the wheel that his father was annoyed, well let him be… He was annoyed, himself, and with himself. OK so it wasn’t his father’s fault that the Dublin promotion meant he was now working on call all the hours he could. The extra money and allowances were paying for Cúan’s new sports gear, his new computer and his new phone but part of Cúan just missed his dad on the sideline like the old days back in Kildare, and he missed the puck around with hurls in the park like they used to do. These new criminals were “Such a pain!”

“I’ll come to your match,” ventured Manus “I’m up for a meal with my old comrades from Griffith Barracks that evening so I might travel a bit early to see you play. What do you say Cúan?” “Sure Grandad, that’d be great.” He turned his face to the window so his father couldn’t see the tears starting to form in his eyes. Inside he was in turmoil. He felt so unsure of his ability and the full forward position was the one most contested in the club. He needed his Dad to urge him on, to be there for him, to encourage him. Grandad was too old!

Just as he was looking out, a white Hiace van passed. It was muddy and rusted, but as it passed a huge grey wolfhound head poked out of the passenger window and looked straight at him, with its wide mouth open and its red tongue hanging out again. It looked as if it were laughing at him.