Copyright

      © Sally Hyder 2011

      Sally Hyder asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      ISBN 9780007393589

      Ebook Edition © 2011 ISBN: 9780007393596

      Version 2019-07-30

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      To Andrew, without whom no mountains would have been climbed and to Peter, Clara and Melissa who have had their own mountains to climb. And of course to Harmony, who has opened doors to independence.

      I love you.

      Thank you.

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1 - In the Beginning

Chapter 2 - Surprise on Everest

Chapter 3 - The Axe Falls

Chapter 4 - Bumpy Road

      Chapter 5 - Gypsy Life

      Chapter 6 - Going Home

      Chapter 7 - Black Days

      Chapter 8 - Fighting for Melissa

      Chapter 9 - Night Falls

      Chapter 10 - Hope Dawns

      Chapter 11 - Starting a New Adventure

      Chapter 12 - Love at Second Sight

      Chapter 13 - The Pound that Changes Lives

      Chapter 14 - Mayhem and Miracles

      Chapter 15 - An Expanding World

      Chapter 16 - Double Trouble

      Chapter 17 - Venturing Forth

      Chapter 18 - By Royal Invitation

      Chapter 19 - Tasting Freedom

      Chapter 20 - Finishing on a High

      Acknowledgements

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

      I’ve fallen in love with Elmo – at least I think I have. I’ve come to meet the new batch of dogs; they’re only 12 months old. It’s one of those bright January days and the barn is flush with sunlight. Here come Caesar and Elmo, old hands looking for new partners, and Headley, a chocolate Labrador who likes to watch me very carefully with his enormous brown eyes. I’m humbled by his trust. Then there are the blondes: Foster, who doesn’t like ‘boarding school’ (as I have dubbed the advance training), still goes home to a foster family at night. Harry and Henry who I can’t tell apart (Harry, I think, has the edge) are full of beans while Harmony is smaller and paler than the rest, with schoolgirl freckles on her face.

      Having worked on the simplest tasks such as retrieving dropped items or just walking around without knocking into each other, we’re now practising the supermarket checkout sequence. The idea is for your dog to retrieve cans and boxes from the shelves, put them in your basket and then pass your purse to the checkout person. It’s complicated: already I’ve run over a couple of paws with my wheelchair. There was an outburst of yelps.

      ‘Sorry!’ I exclaimed, mortified.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ said the dog trainers, who have the patience of saints.

      They check the dogs’ paws, reassuring me. We reach the checkout counter in the corner of the barn – it looks exactly like the real thing.

      ‘Go through,’ I say, rehearsing the commands. ‘Back, back, back!’

      After releasing another foot of lead, I wait for Elmo to go backwards, facing me, past the counter. Hand high, I instruct him to take my purse and he grips it between his teeth.

      ‘Up table, give it to the lady!’ I tell him.

      He puts his front paws on the table and hands it over to Claire, who is playing the checkout girl.

      ‘Off!’ I say, then again, ‘Up table, get the purse. Bring it here!’

      Elmo follows the commands with immense patience but I feel frazzled. This is so complicated: will I ever get it right? Will the trainers think I’m useless and unable to manage a dog?

      ‘Good dog,’ I tell him. I reach into the treat bag and find a bit of sausage. Elmo gently takes it from me, wagging his tail. In fact, the dogs wag their tails the whole time as if they’re happy to be working. I pat his coat and I’m reminded not to stroke the top of his head. (How would you like it if a stranger patted the top of your head?)

      It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to discover how to get a dog to work for you – rewards. As Canine Partners (a disability charity now in its twentieth year that uses specially trained dogs to assist people in their everyday lives) will tell you, there are lots of reasons why dogs won’t work for you: too tired, hungry, hot, bored … But there are two reasons why they want to do so: rewards and fun. My reward bag is full of chopped cheese, sausage, broccoli and carrot (yes, dogs eat vegetables too!). Every time I stick my hand in, I think, yuck! Do I really have to live with a bag of mushy treats attached to me forever?

      ‘Keep rewarding,’ says Claire, the trainer. ‘Turn off your chair whenever you’re stationary.’

      So many things to remember: the last time I was here, I worked with Claire’s dog, Doyle. Doyle is a Standard Poodle Retriever Cross (or ‘Goldiepoo’, as they are sometimes called). He works as a demo dog all the time. Here we go again, I could see him thinking as I dropped my purse on the floor. Yeah, yeah, I know I have to pick it up! He looked at me, big sigh, and then picked it up. I worked with Doyle after teaming up with Guy, a high-spirited Flat Coat. After trying to manage Guy, I felt exhausted – Doyle was a dream in comparison.

      At lunch, Claire asks: ‘Do you have a preference?’

      ‘Elmo and Headley,’ I reply, without hesitation.

      ‘What about Harmony?’

      ‘She’s too quiet,’ I insist. ‘Too docile – boring, even: I want a dog with real character.’

      In the afternoon we’re sent out to exercise the dogs, one at a time, in a field at the back. They tear across the frozen ground. I wrap my scarf around my neck and throw the ball (supplied by a local tennis club) for Foster. He brings it back and drops it in my lap. Ears cocked, he stares at me. Come on lady, what are you waiting for? I throw the ball again and again and again. All of a sudden, I realise