Judy: The Unforgettable Story of the Dog Who Went to War and Became a True Hero by Damien Lewis Page A

to, explaining what they wanted her to do.
    Then he pointed in the direction of a freshly shot bird: “Good girl! Fetch! Fetch!”
    Seeming at last to understand what was expected of her, Judy gave an excited wag of her hindquarters, dropped her head, and dashed off into the bush. Now and again her long white tail popped up into view over the undergrowth or there was a flash of liver and white as she bounded over the thick scrub. For a while she seemed to be making good progress, and then all sight and sound of her was lost. The watching party waited several minutes before weapons were made safe, and Tankey volunteered to go find her.
    Barely had he set off when he heard an anguished howl echo forth from the terrain up ahead. He knew instantly that it was Judy, although he’d never heard her utter anything like the tortured cries she was now making. As further heartrending yowls rent the air, he dashed forward, fearing the very worst. Was their ship’s dog caught in some kind of animal trap, he wondered, or, worse still, crushed in the hungry jaws of a forest leopard?
    Tankey crashed through the tall grass desperate to get to Judy, using his ears as his guide. Moments later he’d stumbled right upon her. At his feet lay some kind of pool, and somehow Judy had tumbled in. Worse still, the pond seemed to be full of a thick cloying mud from which the poor dog seemed unable to escape. As she eyed him desperately, imploring him to help, Tankey didn’t for one moment hesitate—he plunged right in.
    Landing on his feet, he began to wade through the waist-deep mess. It was only then and as the thick crust that covered the pond’s surface was further torn asunder that his senses were hit by an unbelievable stench. As the crisp, sun-baked skin broke apart, so the ripe contents below were exposed to the air, along with their telltale odor. What Judy and now Tankey had leaped into here was an open cesspit.
    Almost paralyzed from the shock and the overpowering, suffocating stench—that of human feces cooked for months under the strong Hankow sun—Tankey stood there for an instant and did as Judy was doing, howling out his distress. And then the realization hit him: whereas he was able to stand waist-deep in the sickeningmess, poor Judy was having to dog-paddle—in effect, treading water in a pool full of unspeakable torment.
    Forcing his brain and body to function—dragging his mind out of the horror of the moment—he grabbed Judy by her collar, threw her onto the bank, and hauled himself out behind her. There Tankey stood on the cesspit’s edge, his legs, the lower half of his torso, and his arms covered in a revolting slick of ordure. The gunk was all over his hands even, from where he’d grabbed Judy’s collar, plus he could feel it squelching evilly inside his boots.
    But Judy was in an even worse condition: only her head had escaped immersion in the devilish pit. Using thick clumps of grass, Tankey tried as best he could to scrub off the worst of the mess. Having done what he could for himself, he turned to Judy and used the same technique to try to rub her down. But even though pointers have relatively short hair, still Judy’s coat had soaked up enough of the thick black horror that it proved all but impossible to clean her.
    There was nothing for it: they would have to make haste to the Gnat , where hot baths laced with disinfectant were very much in order. With a hangdog expression on both man’s and dog’s features they hurried over to the hunting party—but none of their companions would come within twenty feet of them. Too disgruntled and disgusted to care much, Tankey led Judy back toward the harbor, a thick cloud of voracious flies marking their progress through the bush.
    Long before they reached the Gnat, Tankey heard the clanging of the ship’s bell. One of those on the hunting party had clearly gotten back to their vessel before them. A voice drifted across to him as they hurried along the Hankow Bund.