Читать книгу Man's Best Hero - Ace Collins - Страница 8

2. Tenacity

2

tenacity

he never surrendered

Let me tell you the secret that has led me to my goal. My strength lies solely in my tenacity.

—Louis Pasteur

It had been just over a year since John F. Kennedy had been gunned down in Dallas, Texas, and the country was still immersed in a cloud of confusion. The great social upheaval that was sweeping America was being covered by television. Millions were bombarded daily by events that seemed to shake traditional thinking to the core. A young, suddenly politically active generation was protesting against the war in Vietnam. African Americans, inspired by Martin Luther King, Jr., were marching in the streets demanding equal rights. The Beatles and other British acts controlled the music industry pushing Elvis, Sinatra, and other U.S. artists to the back burner. TV and movies were beginning to take on an edge that left many people uncomfortable. America’s sense of greatness and opportunity that had defined the 1950s had given way to a period of 1960s pessimism. This dark cloud of insecurity and apprehension had invaded every corner of the country including Tacoma, Washington. It seemed what America needed was a born-and-bred hero but what the country had was a crop of anti-heroes. In many ways this was a sad and depressing time.

With Christmas just days away, Marvin Scott, a gray-haired man in his sixties, was trying to ignore the national malaise and praying his furniture business would pick up. Scott’s dark-rimmed glasses, black, conservative suit, white shirt, and muted tie made the Tacoma store owner appear almost as gloomy as the national mood. Yet far from being a somber, withdrawn person, Scott was actually outgoing and charming. He had a zest for life that few men nearing retirement age possessed. Though usually hidden by his dark coats, he possessed broad, rugged shoulders and a flat stomach that also proved his vibrant and inexhaustible energy. Because of having to move the heavy furniture he sold, he was also a strong man who retained his optimism when it seemed the whole country had chosen to embrace a cynical spirit. Though he didn’t know it, he would need each of those traits and a remarkable dog to just survive until the holidays.

Scott lived in one of the most beautiful places in the country. Spanaway, Washington, sprang to life in the 1890s as a tourist resort. Back then people from all over the world took the train to the small community to visit Mt. Rainer. As the visitors got off at the train station, the picturesque, snow-covered mountain loomed in the background leaving them in awe. Most snapped photos and bought postcards and took the story of the area back to places like Kansas City, Chicago, Dallas, and New York. A few decided the area was so breathtaking they wanted to see it each morning when they awoke. Hence, over time, the small town was transformed into a quaint community filled with people who loved outdoor life.

Over the decades Marvin Scott watched the town grow and prosper while also keeping an eye on the unchanging Mt. Rainer. He often spent hours on the dock just three hundred yards before his lakefront home relishing the incredible vistas nature presented to him. What he saw while enjoying Lake Spanaway never grew old. And usually when he was on the dock or walking around the lake, Scott was accompanied by a mutt named Patches.

Patches was anything but a purebred dog. The white-and-brown fifty-pound mass of fur defined the term “medium-sized mongrel.” Scott freely acknowledged his canine was a mix of collie and malamute with likely a few other things tossed in, but the man believed that gave the dog character. In an age where everyone wanted a certain breed and was paying big bucks for that privilege, the furniture store owner took special pride in having an animal no one would pay money to own. In Scott’s way of thinking, Patches defined America and its individual spirit.

From the collie side of his family, Patches had developed a real instinct for herding. The problem was Scott didn’t own any sheep, goats, or cows. So the dog constantly tried to unsuccessfully corral the ducks and geese that lived around the lake. He also leaned into Scott when they walked together.

From the malamute side, Patches received a stubborn nature that caused Scott even more grief than having the dog try to herd him on their walks. Malamutes simply have a mind of their own. Much like a cat, they decide which of their master’s orders were important and which could be ignored. Added to this independent streak was brute strength. Malamutes had been bred for generations for to pull heavy freight across Alaska’s deep snow, so the dog was as strong as he was stubborn.

Tough but not large, Patches was also tenacious. Once he set his mind to something he stuck with it. That meant if he decided to drag a large piece of driftwood up the steep, rock-covered bank to Scott’s home he would not rest until the task was completed. It mattered not to the dog that his human companion returned the wood to the lake almost as soon as it had appeared at the backdoor. Added to these malamute traits was the collie’s ability to problem solve. That meant the dog could figure out how to open latches thus getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be.

Winter was Patches’s least favorite season. He didn’t mind the cold weather; in fact, with his dual coats he thrived in it. What he hated were the short days. Having so little daylight meant that he and Scott couldn’t spend as much time down by the lake, and the dog sorely missed those bonding moments with his master.

On this December night it was just past ten and the temperature had already fallen to single digits when Patches noted the sound of Scott’s approaching car. Shaking the sleep from his head, the dog got up and ambled to the front door. After patting Patches’s head and then visiting with his wife, Scott moved to the kitchen window to glance down at the lake. He could make out the form of a patrol boat, almost hidden in the darkness, tied up at their dock. The almost gale-force winds appeared to be knocking it against the side of the pier. He wondered out loud if he needed to go down to the lake and do a better job securing the craft. His wife quickly assured him that it was a night not fit for man or beast and he should stay inside and let the local officers worry about their boat. She added that if it was no concern to them it should not be a concern to him either. As the woman would soon discover, those words of wisdom went in one ear and out the other.

Scott ate a late supper, glanced through the mail, and turned on the TV. Sitting in his chair he tried to relax but every time he heard the wind his thoughts took him back to the lake. Maybe the government folks weren’t worried about their boat but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be concerned about the dock and pier. The wind, icing on the lake, and cold weather spelled a combination for disaster and, if he could prevent any damage from happening, he felt he should do it. The wind chill was well below zero; he fought the urge to act on his impulse for almost half an hour. Finally, at eleven, he looked over to his wife and announced he was at least going to go down to the lake and check on things. Putting on a heavy coat over his suit, grabbing his gloves and a hat, he walked out the back door into the unforgiving cold. By his side, ducking his head down low toward the ground to try and avoid the wind, was an eager and enthusiastic Patches. In the dog’s mind it was never too cold for a walk.

The rocks that covered the dramatically sloping ground leading to the lake helped prevent erosion, but tonight those tiny boulders made walking all but impossible. Scott’s dress shoes slipped with each of his steps. Several times he barely caught himself before falling. He was a third of the way to the water when he wondered if maybe his wife had been right. Perhaps what happened to the boat and pier didn’t matter. Yet as he turned back to look at the house the climb up appeared even less inviting than the walk down.

Though much more nimble than the man, Patches was sliding too. More than once the icy rocks’ uneven size and shape, combined with the strong, cold breeze sent the dog sprawling. Yet, unlike the man, he never looked back. His eyes were on the prize—a chance to walk around the lake with his master.

It took more than ten minutes for the two to make their way to the dock but only a few seconds for Scott to realize he had been right. The wind was pushing the boat against the pier. He needed to find a way to shove it back out into the lake a bit and wedge an object between the vessel and wood to protect them both. As he got closer something else caught his eye. The wind had blown lake water onto the side of the boat and dock and it was now frozen. If that layer grew thick enough it could do great damage to both.

Standing uneasily on the dock, leaning into the wind to keep his balance, his glasses now freezing over with spray, Scott fully appreciated just how cold it was. It was as if the wind was blowing right through the layers of clothing and to his skin. As he took a deep breath of the moist air even his lungs began to ache. Whatever he needed to do, he had to do it quickly and get back to the house. If he didn’t he might be a candidate for frostbite.

Looking around he noted a small limb that had been pushed onto shore. Carefully making his way to it, he picked it up. It was well over four feet long, so it had the length he needed. It was also thick enough to do the job. Sliding across the frozen ground and back onto the pier, he skated toward the boat’s stern. Trying to lock his feet on the wooden planking, he aimed the timber at the boat and gave a powerful shove. Because the lake surface’s was now an almost invisible sheet of ice, the boat held solid. That should have been a sign for the man to simply give up and head home, but like his dog, the businessman also had a deep stubborn streak. He simply could not stop in the middle of a job; he had to finish it.

Just behind Scott, his coat bristling in an effort to fight off the wind and cold, Patches observed the man’s futile efforts. Pawing at the icy deck, the dog moved closer as if trying to understand the purpose in this exercise. Just as he sidled up beside the man’s leg, Scott again pushed against the boat. Once more the vessel was held solidly in place by the frozen water, but this time the man was not so fortunate. His leather soles lost their grip on the wooden planks, and he began sliding backwards. Tossing the timber to one side, Scott attempted to straighten up. Stretching his arms to gain balance, his body twisted. From the corner of his eye he spied the end of the pier and the floating dock that rested alongside it. If he didn’t find a way to stop he realized he would be falling the six feet down to the dock.

Time slowed down to a crawl. Looking around he tried to find something to grab to stop his awkward slide. Except for Patches, whose face was framed in a combination of amusement and fascination, he saw nothing. Flapping his arms in the air as if trying to fly, Scott made one final turn before sliding off the frozen pier. The man was only airborne for a split second before crashing feet first to wooden, floating dock. As he landed the pain was immediate and searing. It felt as if his legs had been caught in a vise and were being slowly crushed. What he didn’t know at that moment was that he had torn all the tendons, ligaments, and muscles from his knees to his ankles. Screaming in agony, Scott attempted to roll over. This move pushed him off the dock and into the lake, where he crashed through a thin layer of ice.

The shock of the frigid water stunned Scott so badly it took his breath away. His mind was now working in slow motion and his thoughts were jumbled. Glancing to his left his eyes focused on the deck. It was getting further away. That meant the wind and current were pushing out into the middle of the lake. If he did not get back to shore in a matter of minutes, he would either die of exposure or drown. Instinct demanded he kick his legs and swim back to shore. His brain immediately sent that message to his legs but as they attempted to follow the command unfathomable pain shot up his spine and hips all but causing him to lapse into unconsciousness. Fighting to hold on to his wits, Scott tried to tread water, but the water had now soaked through all the layers of his clothing, and the weight of those garments was dragging him down into the twenty-foot-deep channel.

After taking one last gasp of frigid air, Scott sank under the waves and into the darkness below the thin ice. The pain from his injuries numbed his will to fight, and the cold demanded he accept what fate held for him. Slowly his mind began to process that he was going to die in the lake he loved so dearly. How long would it take them to find his body? Who would come out into the frigid weather and make the search? Would anyone ever really know what had happened?

A few feet away, his dark-brown eyes glued to the spot in the water where Scott had gone under, a perplexed Patches watched. Leaping down from the pier to the dock, the dog slipped and fell on his belly. It took several moments for him to dig his claws through the ice on the wood and regain his footing. Rushing over to the place where Scott had rolled off the planking, the dog studied the water, took a deep breath, and plunged in. Paddling over to the spot where the man had disappeared, the dog took another deep gasp and dove under the waves.

Scott was slipping into an almost comalike trance when he felt something grab his hair. A second later he felt his whole body being yanked toward the surface. When he emerged from what he had assumed would be his watery grave, he took a deep breath and tried to refocus. Reaching up, he felt Patches’s wide head. The dog’s jaw had a firm grasp on the man’s graying but thankfully thick head of hair. For the moment he was safe, but as the wind was pushing them farther from the shore, they were still facing a huge challenge.

In order to breathe, Scott needed to roll over onto his back. Patches seemed to sense that and let go of the man’s hair, but as soon as Scott had deeply inhaled, filling his lungs with the frosty air, the dog once more took ahold of the man’s hair and began to paddle back toward the shore. Not only was Patches battling the wind but he was also breaking the ice with his feet and chest as he moved forward. Yet the tenacity that often got him into trouble now pushed him stubbornly forward. He would die before he gave up. The distance the dog had to cover was only twenty feet, but because of the conditions and the man’s weight, it took almost five minutes to it make it back to the place where Scott had slipped into the lake.

Patches swam beside the dock, allowing Scott’s body to bump up against the floating wooden structure. Though dazed and confused, the man finally understood what the dog wanted. Gripping the dock’s edge with his hands, Scott slowly yanked himself out of the lake. Rolling over, he quickly realized the dog had not followed.

Patches was so exhausted he could no longer move. He had used every bit of energy just to save the man. Now he was floundering in the water. Grabbing the dog by the scruff of the neck, Scott somehow found the strength to pull him to safety, but as he did, the man lost his balance and fell back into the icy abyss.

Panting on the deck, Patches watched his master plunge back into the water. Totally exhausted, the dog surely realized that he had done all he could do. Yet for reasons no human has ever understood, the dog, fully aware it likely meant he was going to die, pulled himself off the dock and leaped back into the icy lake.

Scott had now blacked out. Diving under the surface, Patches again found the man’s hair. Latching onto it with his solid jaw, the canine rotated and headed back toward the surface. Breaking out of the water, he regained his bearings and began to paddle toward shore. Again Patches stopped at the dock until he saw Scott reach up and grab onto the side. The dog then swam to shore, pulled himself of the water, ran out onto the pier, leaped down to the dock, and slid over to the man. The now nearly frozen furniture owner was shocked when Patches leaned forward, grabbed the back of the man’s coat collar, dug his claws into the ice, and yanked. It took several minutes for Patches to get Scott out of the water. Not satisfied to simply pull up on the deck, this time the dog kept tugging until he had the man in the middle of the floating wooden structure.

Exhausted and unable to walk, Scott rolled over onto his back and screamed for help. On a normal night at least a dozen people would have heard him and come down to investigate. But because of the cold all the windows were latched tight. After a few minutes with no response, the man took a deep breath and gave up. Among all the thoughts racing through his mind was that no one would ever realize what Patches had done that night.

The man might have given in, but the dog hadn’t. After a short rest, Patches got up and called on his malamute breeding and his collie problem solving. Grabbing Scott’s collar, the dog yanked him a foot forward. Jarred awake by the canine’s efforts, the man rolled over and used his elbows to move a foot on his own. That small movement took almost all the man’s energy. As he rested the dog yanked Scott off the dock and onto the shore. The dog was simply not going to give up until the man was safely home.

Beyond the pain from his horrific injuries, the numbing cold was starting to play with the man’s mind. It was demanding he give up. Again and again a voice inside his brain yelled at him to just let things be. After all, he was out of the water, his body would be easy to find and no one would have to risk their lives looking for him. But each moment he was about to close his eyes and check out, Patches sank his teeth into the heavy coat collar and dragged him a few more feet.

There was no path from the lake to his house. The rocks made going straight up the hill difficult even in the best of times. Tonight the large stones would have been almost impossible to manage for both a healthy man and rested beast. But somehow Patches’s stubborn spirit drove him on. Foot by foot he dragged the man higher up the steep hill. When he grew too weary to move, he laid down beside Scott to warm him. Once he’d rested a bit, he got up, faced the wind, and went back to work. Inspired by his efforts, Scott found new strength and grabbed onto the rocks to help. Together the duo slowly moved up the hill.

Back in the house, Mrs. Scott walked over to the kitchen window and glanced down toward the dock. The patrol boat was still there but there was no sign of her husband. A tinge of concern raced through her body, but she figured he had likely gone next door to see if the friendly neighbors could help him secure the craft. Besides, if anything had happened, Patches would have come home. The fact the mutt was not scratching at the door must mean that everything was all right, she thought.

Scott looked up and saw his wife at the window. He cried out to her, but the wind carried his voice away. She never heard him. And because he was dressed in dark clothes he was sure she couldn’t have seen him either. But he was now too close to give up.

Knowing that home was now within reach provided Scott and Patches with a second wind. As the man grabbed onto the rocks with more vigor, the dog now pulled more and rested less. Patches was completely exhausted when he finally made it to the grass in the family’s backyard. After grabbing the man’s coat collar a final time and managing to bring Scott another six inches closer to home, the weary canine collapsed.

The cold had numbed the pain to the point where Scott was once again drifting into unconsciousness. But he had to at least live long enough to tell the story of Patches’s courage and fortitude. Using the last bit of reasoning power he could muster, he grabbed a rock and heaved it toward the back of the house. The pebble hit the kitchen window just as his wife walked by. This time, when she looked outside, she spotted Scott in the yard. A few moments later she was by his side. After dragging him out of the cold, she called an ambulance. Worried about her husband, unable to comprehend his injuries, she ignored the dog that had literally saved the man’s life three times in the past hour. She had no idea the only reason Scott was alive was because the wet, smelly canine now resting in the living room had brought him home.

At Tacoma General Hospital, Marvin Scott’s injuries were assessed. His legs were in horrible shape. The doctors didn’t even know if he would ever be able to walk again. But for the moment that was the least of the problems. Scott was suffering from hypothermia and frostbite. Because of the water he had ingested during his period in the lake, his lungs were damaged as well. Within hours the doctors’ worst fears were realized as he developed pneumonia.

With infections raging through his body and medications masking his excruciating pain, Scott was out of his head for days. Hovering on the edge between life and death he would spend Christmas and New Year’s in the hospital. Meanwhile, back at home, Patches, unaware of what had happened to his master, anxiously waited for him to come home. And finally, after several major surgeries and twenty-seven days in the hospital, Scott did come home. It was only then that family and friends were made fully aware of Patches’s life-saving efforts.

The dog stayed by the man’s side as he recovered, but it would be six months before Scott was able to use two canes and walk back to the dock. Beside him each step of the way was the dog that wouldn’t let him die.

In the annals of canine history there have been thousands of dogs that have saved people’s lives. Some of the famous names lionized in dog lore include Balto, Tang, Duke, Ringo, and Bear. Still, for many dog lovers, there is one dog that, due to his incredible determination, devotion, and fortitude, stands head and shoulders above the rest. At a time when America’s fiber was being rocked by insecurity and changed, when faith and hope were rare, in one hour, with no hesitation or concern for his own welfare, Patches proved his heroic nature three times. If there was a canine Medal of Honor, this dog’s image should be on it and if there was a dog that defined the essence of the American spirit and will to survive even the toughest times, it was this collie/malamute mutt. When the country needed a hero, Patches answered the call.