Concerning Chance ✔

SIX

Beside me, the Count barks and lolls his long tongue out at me, as if he's also trying to get me out of my head. There's something about dogs' intuition, like they know when their owner needs a bit of comfort.

I guess that's why they're called man's best friend.

Sexism coming in again, I think subconsciously. It should be humanity's best friend. I can't bear the fact that almost everything is perceived and portrayed with men being the most important sex. Which just isn't true at all.

There's so much crypticity in Chance's last words to me (I refuse to say her final words) ... Don't look for me, like she knew she'd survive in some way or another. Like she knew I wouldn't give up on her and she didn't want me to help her. My heart aches with hope.

I stop in my tracks, now on the beach, when I see a kite surfer out on the rough sea. Waves crash into the sand and the wind whips around haphazardly. The Count whines a little, whilst I silently hope that this guy's experienced enough to be out there in these conditions.

My breath catches in my throat as I watched the surfer get swept up in the air by a strong gust of wind. Then, with a tug of the kite's lines, he's back on the waves, gliding and bouncing along the choppy waves.

I let go of the breath; he's got this.

Having lived beside the sea all my life, I've witnessed too many Coast Guard rescues to be nonchalant about the dangers of the sea. People just don't seem to understand the fact that the sea is not a swimming pool — there's no back door and, more often than not, it's too powerful for even strong swimmers to cope with.

Finding my way along the pebbled beach, I smile at the fact the beach is completely deserted — despite the bright autumn sunshine. I like it like this; no tourists with yapping dogs — just the sea and the sand and the sunshine.

After unclipping the Count from his lead to let him run free, I sit down on a long driftwood log. Years of being tossed around in the sea have left their impressions; indentations and ridges made smooth against my fingertips.

Letting my eyes shut, the sun warms my face slightly, then I lazily open them to watch the kite surfer again. It's mesmerising; watching him dart from left to right, holding my breath as a flurry of wind threatens to sweep him away, finding peace as he finds safety once again.

Large white clouds roll across the horizon, furling and unfurling slowly and unevenly. There's an indescribable peace in the air; the waves crashing bring a sense of reassurance along with their consistency.

The Count's chasing shadows along the beach, paws digging into the soft sand down near the sea. His happiness makes me smile.

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I hug them and rest my head on top.

Strangely, Max occupies my mind as opposed to Chance. The way he's so supportive of my finding the truth, the way he keeps on pulling me back from the edge — as if he wants me to keep on living; as if he needs me to.

Something's changed between him and me since Chance disappeared. I don't know whether it's always been there, and if I just haven't noticed it because all my attention was always on Chance, or if it's just a recent thing that's appeared.

I can't quite describe it other than the fact something has changed between the two of us.

The kite surfer lowers his orange kite down onto the beach as he coasts in on a final wave — the bright colour catching my eye and drawing my attention back to him.

The Count scampers over to him and accosts him with hearty barks — before trying to jump up at him.

"Hey, boy!" I stand up and whistle the Count over to me; knowing all too well how annoying some people find dogs. The Count pauses for a moment, then runs back up to me, as I raise a hand in apology, "Sorry about that!"