By Jay Scott Kanes
WITH a joyful yelp, Puddles, a brown dog, twisted, spinning to face a toothy challenge from Yippy, her white-and-black playmate. The two dogs rose to their back legs, grappling and pushing like slimmed-down sumo wrestlers. Then they dropped to all-fours and raced along the beach.
“Four-leg drive works well on the sand,” said Frank, squinting through thick spectacles and scratching at his stubbly chin. “They’re fast.”
Frank, who could afford dog food thanks to his job as an accountant, had escorted Puddles, his pet, for a Saturday romp at Power Station Beach near their home on Lamma Island in Hong Kong. Luckily for Puddles, they’d encountered Wanda, a schoolteacher, her tiny daughter Doreen and the dog Yippy.
“Our dog needs exercise,” said Wanda. “She stays quiet for hours when Doreen naps.”
“The dogs love it here,” said Frank, who lifted a leg and tried to shake sand off one of his sandals.
Wanda, tall, slim and with curly red hair, avoided the water’s edge. In her arms, she held 13-month-old Doreen, who curiously eyed the frolicking dogs.
“Gaaa daaa faaa” Doreen said in infant lingo. She raised her hands as if framing the dogs between mini-fingers. Gently, Wanda bounced the infant in her arms.
Frank stopped trying to expel sand from his footwear. Using a big-toe that poked from his right scandal, he drew a circle in the grainy terra firma.
“What did you hear about the boats to Central?” Wanda asked. “How many crossings will the ferry company chop?”
Frank winked at the baby. “I don’t know and don’t care.”
Frowning, Wanda turned to face him. “Other people care,” she said. “We need a little convenience to get into the city.”
“Que sera, sera,” Frank said. “What will be, will be.”
“So you didn’t attend protest meetings?”
“No.” Frank shrugged. “I’d rather see fewer ferries. Then maybe they’d travel full.”
He noticed the dogs reach a wall of rocks near the adjacent power station. With their tails whirling like windmills, they turned and galloped back.
Doreen twisted in Wanda’s arms. “Waaay geee heee,” she said, waving toward the sprinting canines.
“I wonder when we’ll understand Doreen-talk,” Frank mused.
“Not for a while,” Wanda predicted.
They stared at the youngster, who shot back a gummy grin. “Deee daaa neegaa,” she said, gesturing excitedly.
Then Frank noticed white and brown blurs surprisingly close. Before he could yell a warning, Puddles lunged at Yippy, who veered away and crashed into Wanda’s legs with the maximum force of a speeding dog.
Bashed from behind, Wanda’s knees folded, and she collapsed onto the sand. There, she sat blinking in surprise, still clutching the delicate Doreen.
“Weee waah gaaa,” said the child, giggling. The hit-and-run Yippy bounded off after Puddles.
“Are you alright?” Bending, Frank took Doreen into his own arms until Wanda rose.
“No harm done.” Once upright, Wanda brushed sand off her trousers.
“I’m deeply impressed.” Frank returned the child. “You didn’t try to save yourself or break the fall. You just hung onto Doreen and protected her. She didn’t get bumped at all.”
Wanda smiled. “That’s what a mother does,” she said. “I sacrifice myself for my daughter.”
As the delighted dogs played on, a tiny girl, safe in her mother’s arms, beamed and drooled a little.
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