Compass

A short story about a father and son who find their way back to each other by means of a war dog...a dog who represents to both father and son promises broken and promises kept. Set in the 1960s.

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SPEAKER_00 0:01

Hello everyone, welcome. This is a slow moving story, more a study of character than a tale of action. Sometimes we can pinpoint one single event in our childhood that completely altered how we saw the world, and the grown ups around us saw that we changed, but didn't know why. Other times that pivotal event happens to us as adults. Here's a story about a father and son who find their way back to each other by means of a war dog, a dog who represents to both father and son promises broken and promises kept. This is Compass Christmas nineteen forty five. But you promised, he cried as only a boy of ten could. And I kept my promise, Danny boy, his dad said. There, you said you wanted a pet, and I got you a pet, pointing to the turtle still sitting motionless in its Christmas box. I wanted a dog, you knew I meant a dog. I told you last year we'd never ever get a dog, didn't I tell you that, didn't I? Now this year, when you asked again, I said maybe. Just maybe a pet. But I never said dog, did I? You know how I feel about dogs. Your mother has enough to do. We all have enough to do without going around cleaning up after a dog. Now, a turtle? Well, now that's a creature that knows its place. Doesn't eat much. Um what does it eat, Betty? I forgot to ask the man at the pet store. There must be instructions in here somewhere. As his father droned on, Danny picked up the turtle. His disappointment was monumental. What am I going to do with this? he thought, as he turned it upside down in the palm of his hand. It just waved its limbs around lazily like a mechanical toy. He couldn't even tell if it was a girl or a boy turtle, or even whether it was looking at him or not. Pinhead, he whispered, gently rolling it around with his thumb. I'm going to name him Pinhead. Pinhead didn't live very long, maybe a year. The boy tried to take care of him. He took out a library book at school to learn all about turtle care. He wasn't a mean kid. But a turtle just wasn't what he wanted, what he'd yearned for, the thing he'd been asking Santa for since he was two, till he realized that Santa was his own dog hating dad. He buried Pinhead by a nearby creek. Turtles liked water. He marked the grave with one of his mother's fancy hair pins and tied a piece of styrofoam to it with the words Here lies Pinhead nineteen forty five to nineteen forty six. As far as dogs went, his dad was like President Truman. Danny wasn't anything like his dad or Truman. He'd taken the dogs as soon as he could walk. All his friends had dogs, beagles, collies, terriers, even Mutts. Collies were a big favorite thanks to the Lassie movies. German Shepherds would be the next blockbuster breed as the legend of Rintin Tin took over Hollywood. Rinty, as he was known, was so popular he'd nearly won an Oscar. Anyway, after that Christmas, Danny just gave up asking for a dog. And now his heart ached every time he saw one because he knew he couldn't have one, one of his own. If he couldn't have his own dog, he decided the best thing was to have nothing to do with them. He stopped playing with his friends' dogs or even noticing dogs on the street after that. He just ignored their lolling tongues and wagging tails when they came up to him and walked right past them as if they were fire hydrants. So, at nearly eleven years old, Danny shoved his childhood heartache down deep somewhere, where it couldn't find him anymore. He did everything that was expected of him without feeling one way or the other about it. He'd just telescoped his heart shut. People thought he'd become shy. He wasn't. He was just running on empty all the time. It was only when he met Vernon and Compass that that inner door suddenly burst open. nineteen fifty two, seven years later. Vernon had no fixed address. He spent his days sitting in the small entrance to the office building right next to the downtown Morgan's department store, that mammoth building that took up a whole city block. Downtown Montreal was burgeoning then, still in post war development, catering to a cresting consumerism. Vernon wasn't a consumer of any kind, more of a garbage bin recycler, decades before the concept even existed. Danny had only ever seen a homeless man once before, on his way to see a movie downtown with his folks. That one was a lady. He couldn't take his eyes off her, like driving by a car accident slowly just to see if there was any blood or maybe dead bodies on the road. His dad had turned Danny's head away, with half his hands covering his son's eyes, saying, Don't look, son, look away. She's nothing to do with you, nothing. So when Danny first spotted Vernon on his first day of work as a stockboy at Morgan's, he did exactly that. He looked away. But he had to pass them every day he went to work after that, and Vernon was always there, days anyway. Danny never did find out where he spent his nights, and each time he saw something more. He couldn't help it. Every morning, as he walked by, his glance away took longer. The first thing Danny noticed was that he wore a soldier's uniform, worn and tattered, and so dirty he wasn't even sure that that's what it was. He'd seen his dad's old uniform once, before he stored it away in the attic never to be seen again, and it looked just like Vernon's. But there was something more. Vernon's had medals pinned on his. Danny hadn't noticed them right off because Vernon always sat with his knees bent in front of him slightly apart, his hands resting on them, like he was ready to get up and go if he had to, like he was waiting for something. Sometimes he tossed something, maybe an old watch fob, from hand to hand. He always looked straight ahead through the vista of his bent knees, never up or down, not staring exactly, just looking, as if only what was far away or long ago held any interest for him. A kind of blank look. Danny knew that look. Even sitting, Danny could tell he was a tall man, solid build, square shouldered, with brown hair so matted and greasy it could have been black. He was no atlas, but he was no sad sack either. And those metals were something. They weren't shined up or anything, but they still gleamed when the sunlight hit them. There was a war going on in Korea. Danny wasn't really interested in the who or the why of it, but he knew that much. He could have asked his dad about those medals, but then he'd have to tell him he'd seen them on a homeless man, and then he'd be in the doghouse for even getting close enough to see them. Every day, as Danny rode the bus downtown to work, his thoughts turned more and more to the homeless man. How had an old soldier who'd won war medals, come to be living in the entrance of an office building? Maybe he'd stolen them, maybe the uniform too. Maybe he'd stripped them off someone else, maybe another homeless man who was dying of the cold or too sick to fight back. Maybe they weren't even his. Then again, maybe they were. So Danny was back where he started. How come a war veteran had no home? He took to eating his lunch in the little park across the street from the office building. Danny's mother had taught him it was rude to stare, so he didn't. He just watched. He saw that Vernon never asked for money, or anything for that matter, not even the time of day. Once his mother had put a sardine sandwich in his lunch. Danny hated sardines. He considered offering it to Vernon, but couldn't decide, so he dropped it in the trash on his way back to work. For the first time in a very long time, Danny felt an interest in something, someone outside himself. But before he could summon the courage to speak to Vernon, something changed. It was a Monday and he was running late, so he began to jog when he got off the bus. He didn't mean to slow down as he passed Vernon, but he did. He did a double take, and stopped dead in his tracks. There was a dog with him, with Vernon, sitting just behind him. You could only see his eyes and ears, but it was a dog all right. Vernon must have known something about Danny that even Danny didn't know because he said You like dogs, son? Vernon was looking up at him with piercing blue eyes. Danny put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. Well, yeah, they're okay. He looked away for a minute. If he stayed to talk, he'd be late for work. He was never late. He stayed. So i is that your dog? He he wasn't here before. Not that I saw anyway. Vernon squinted a bit in the sun. Yeah, you see a lot, don't you from your station over yonder? He motioned toward the park. Danny blushed and looked down. Vernon smiled a slow, friendly smile. Yep, he's my dog, all right. He turned his head almost imperceptibly, and the dog came from behind him and rested its head on his knee. And you didn't see him before because he was at the vets, bum leg. He sprained it on one of our walks. Needed a rest. Oh, right. What what kind of dog? What kind of dog? Well that's hard to figure. Vernon threaded his fingers through his hair. He's well he's what you call a Heinz fifty seven. A bit of everything in him. But Alsatian mostly. And the rest? Well, not important. He waved his hand dismissively in the air. Alsacian Yeah, you know, German shepherd, police dog. The dog turned his head still resting on his master's knee and looked Danny in the eye. He looked so funny, like he was going to ask Danny a question. Danny couldn't stop himself. When he broke out laughing, the dog's face split ear to ear and a doggy smile, long red tongue lolling. You do like dogs, Vernon chuckled. And dogs like you. Danny didn't answer. He shook his head, but he couldn't stop looking at the dog. Do you do you live here? Danny asked, gesturing at the office entrance. Most times. Well, I mean not in the winter. In the winter I go where it's warm. Sometimes the French priest's place, Bonique, but the Sally Anne usually. Danny didn't know who or what the Sally Anne was, and he didn't want to look stupid, so he just nodded like he knew. There were big gaps in his education. Vernon's life was a whole world his dad had never told him about. Vernon shaded his eyes and waited. The boy was searching for something. He'd seen him spend his lunch hours watching him. He wanted something this pale young man on the cusp of manhood, walking like he was in a dream half the time, looking unhappy the other half. He could see that. So did he. Vernon needed something too, and very soon, but it was too early to tell. After that first meeting they met before and after Danny's work shift, and spent lunchtime together every workday. Danny's mother made bigger and bigger lunches, happy that her son was eating like a real man now. Vernon sometimes shared Danny's lunch, mostly not, mostly giving his share to the dog. Danny got home later now, though, so he told his father the bus schedule had changed. He could never have told him he'd made friends with a homeless man and his dog. So Danny finally got most of his questions answered, about the medals, about the war. Vernon told him some war stories, some gruesome, some inspiring, always with the dog beside him, smiling at Danny the whole time. And it was a funny thing, but when Vernon went quiet, Danny talked, hesitant at first, but more than he'd done since he was young. Danny wasn't used to telling anyone things about himself. Vernon just listened, him and his dog. Vernon would just nod his head knowingly now and then or break into that slow moving smile of his. Danny didn't know anyone who could listen as well as Vernon. He didn't know exactly when it happened, but one day the dog just curled up in his lap while he was listening to one of Vernon's stories. Danny could feel his weight and his warmth. His panting tongue dripped a little on his jeans. Danny's heart swelled. He didn't move a muscle. He nearly held his breath. He didn't want the dog to move away, and he didn't want to move away again. Something lost a long time ago was back. That's when Vernon knew for sure. He was the right boy for the job. Vernon's voice seemed to come from far away. Casually he said By the way, I have a little something here for you. Danny hesitated. If he reached for it would the dog jump off him, leave him? He'd just been noticing the dog's collar. What is it? Danny asked. Vernon slowly turned the object in his hands over, then held it up by its chain. It's a compass, a good one. Couldn't have done all I did, gotten through all those foreign lands, or even one these little trinkets. He touched the metals on his chest, without compass. It was made of brass, pure clean brass, he'd said. He'd added the steel chain later. Looks pretty battered, said Danny, in an admiring tone. There was nothing he didn't admire about Vernon. Vernon smiled, reached over, and ruffled the dog's head playfully. Yeah, well, it's broke now. But it's still the most valuable thing I own. Probably the most valuable thing I ever did own. It's yours if you want it. Danny flushed right up to his hairline. Sure I want it. I mean if you're okay parting with it, he said as Vernon dropped it in his hand. It needs a new owner, someone who'll appreciate it like I do. For all it's been through. All it's done for me. Danny heard something in Vernon's shaky voice. What was that? Maybe he shouldn't take the compass. Maybe Vernon wasn't ready to give it up. He pushed the compass back at him. But but I have nothing to give you. You never take anything. Never ask for anything. Hell, most of the time you don't even share my lunch. Don't worry about that, son. Things always even out in the end. As they parted that late afternoon, Danny nearly forgot to ask. See ya tomorrow, and thanks again for the compass. Oh, and I've been meaning to ask you. What's his name? he said as he stroked the dog between the ears. His name? His name is Compass, said Vernon, with that slow, friendly smile of his. That was the last time Danny saw Vernon alive. A month later. Danny's father and mother were arguing. If he wants to have a dog, why shouldn't he have a dog? He's old enough, and he pays rent thanks to you, shouted Betty. I'm telling you I won't have a dog in this house. He's making good money now. If he wants to keep a dog he can go live somewhere else, not here. Not if he keeps that junkyard dog. You are not going to send our son away just because of this stupid thing you have against dogs. I grew up with dogs as you well know, little terriers, sweet as you please, smart as whips, and clean as whistles. Not that you ever asked me, me, if I minded us having a dog. That's it, that's it. Turn this into what a bad husband I am. His father scowled and marched into the den, shaking his head and swinging his arms. Betty followed him. And that junkyard dog, as you call him, is a war dog, a military dog. That man, that homeless man that was a veteran, Danny said. A veteran just like you, and he won medals, medals. And I bet that dog helped him win those medals. Danny listened from the doorway with Compass at his side. When Danny found Vernon and Compass gone the day after their last talk, he thought maybe Compass was back at the vets for something. But when they weren't in their usual place the next day, Danny got worried. He asked around at work about the Sally Anne and went there looking for his friend and his friend's dog. As he stood in front of the building, looking up at the great crest of the salvation army, Danny heard the low howling of a dog. His heart began to pound in his chest. He was sure it was Compass. He knew. He knew in a flash that Vernon was dead, and in that same moment he knew that Compass was his now. Vernon had made it all simple. He was an end stage cancer, and had told the caregivers at the Salianne that a young man would be coming for the dog, the name of Danny Stone, that the dog knew Danny and must on no account go to strangers. He'd rest easy, he'd said, knowing that his compass would be with Danny and nobody else. When Danny and Compass tried to board the bus home that day, the driver wouldn't let them on at first. Then he saw the dog's collar. Get in, the driver said roughly. Had one myself over there. Don't know what they did with them dogs. Heroes they were. Well, hurry up, get in, both of you. Haven't got all day. For some reason the driver reminded Danny of his father. That first night when he brought Compass home, his father shouted himself hoarse. I'm keeping him, Danny said quietly. He's mine. He was given to me. Vernon gave me this, he held out the broken compass. And he gave me compass. He's staying. If he can't stay, then neither can I. Danny turned on his heel and brought compass into the yard. He was going to have his first bath in a long time. Two months later. It was Friday, Betty's bridge night, but Danny knew there'd be a casserole or something ready to heat up for his supper. He came into the kitchen through the backyard as usual, so he could bring compass inside. It was raining. It must have just started because his mother would have brought compass inside before she left. While Danny was at work all day, his mother and compass kept company together. She doted on him, saving bits of beef or bacon or liver to add to his daily ration of alpo. She'd smile fondly when Danny brushed him, giving Danny pointers here and there, proud that she had the most experience with dogs in the family. She was amazed at how well trained he was. He sat quietly in the kitchen while she cooked, always up against the back door. He protects me, she'd say to Danny, almost gushing. Or see, see, Danny, there he is. He won't let anyone in who has no business here. Why, he's better than a lock and chain. At first, Danny and his mother thought that eventually Danny's father would relent about the dog, maybe even take him on a walk now and then, but he never did. He just acted like Compass was a piece of furniture he had to bend around to get where he was going. His father didn't hear him come in that rainy Friday. After Danny toweled compass dry he walked into the parlor. You could have at least called him inside. It's raining hard out there.

unknown 21:59

His father

SPEAKER_00 22:00

His father was looking down at something he was holding in his hand and didn't answer. Danny sat down across from him. Compass crept quietly onto the sofa beside him. What have you got there? Is that is that Vernon's compass? His father nodded slowly. He had a look on his face Danny had only seen once before, when his grandfather died. I haven't seen one of these in a dog's age. It points magnetic north, not true north. Not good for much, these. Danny didn't know what he was talking about. He didn't know anything about the compass except that Vernon had said it was broken. But he'd learned a lot from Vernon. He waited, ready to listen. Gripping the compass in his fist his father said, See now, these were part and parcel of our kits in the war. But the problem was magnetic north is always off true north by several degrees. So sometimes you'd think you were headed north, but you weren't. You were always a little west of where you were headed. What do you mean magnetic north? asked Danny. Isn't north always north? His father didn't answer right away. Then, with a grin he said. What do you think that dog of yours is doing when he turns round and round before he chooses one particular place to do his business? Danny was taken aback by this irrelevant outburst. What did dogs have to do with compass direction? Your mother's home. His father laid the compass on the coffee table and got up to open the door, sidestepping wide to avoid Compass, who trotted over to the door with him. When Danny went to bed that night, he kept trying to make sense of their brief conversation. He and his father had barely spoken since Compass came. It was an odd way to start, he thought, but it was better than nothing. And he'd almost forgotten. His father was a war vet too. He'd never spoken about the war until now. He'd go to the library and take out a book on compasses next week, and then he'd try to ask his father about it again once he knew more. Danny fell asleep smiling with compass lying next to him, thinking about the weekend field trip he'd planned, where he'd never been before, in the woods off island, just him and his war dog. Saturday Danny was up and dressed by four the next morning. His father passed by his bedroom door and said I'll drive you. Danny nodded and smiled. Compass, who always looked up and alert when Danny's father spoke, like a soldier at attention, relaxed into a smile too. Well, that's a surprise, eh, Compass? murmured Danny. Must have gotten up on the right side of the bed this morning. With a slight jerk of his head, Danny's father motioned Compass to jump in the back seat. Then he handed Danny his backpack. He dropped them off just where the main trail led into the woods. The day was fine, not too warm with a comfortable breeze. Summer was starting, and days were longer. Later that Saturday Danny and Compass had a great day, especially Compass, who struck off the beaten path and soared through the brush and bracken of the woods like a deer, keeping abreast of Danny the whole time. Dusk was falling, that hiatus between dark and light. No longer day, but not quite night. Danny had left the trail some time before. He stood in a small clearing, smiling at the chirps and tweets above him and the cricks and cracks around him. Come on, Compass, time to go. A little unsure at first, Danny looked to the right and then left. He licked his finger and tested the wind direction. The wind had been behind him before, coming from the north, but there was no wind at all now. He shrugged and started walking to the left of the clearing. Compass, who was right by his side, didn't move. Come on, boy, let's get going, he said, looking back. It's getting pretty late. Mom'll have something special for your supper, I bet. Compass stood as still as a statue at first, then took a few steps in the opposite direction and stared back at Danny. Danny shifted his pack on his back and patted his leg invitingly. What are you waiting for, boy? Danny walked over to him. He rarely used a leash with Compass. He never needed one, but he'd kept his old collar with his ID on it. The dog let out a short woof, his alert eyes fixed on Danny's face. He still didn't move, then he began turning in small circles, nose close to the ground. Then he crouched, nose in the air, and stood stock still. Danny took off his backpack and sat down cross legged beside him. Out of the blue, he suddenly remembered Vernon's compass and what his dad had said about it, and that weird remark about dogs. He shook his head slowly, still wondering about that whole exchange, and then it struck him. The dog's name was compass. Vernon had said he couldn't have done all he did without his compass. And the brass compass was broken. His dad had said so, and talked about true north and magnetic north and dogs. He pulled the old compass out of his backpack. As he studied it, the dog did it again, turning round and round, stopping only when his nose pointed in the same direction as before. So, you think you know better than me, eh boy? I'm not sure where that trail is, but you do. Is that what you're telling me? Okay, then, he said, pulling on his backpack. Lead the way, Compass. After nearly an hour following Compass, Danny wasn't seeing anything familiar, even the trees. A lot more spruce along here than the big maples near the main trail. As he reached behind to fish out his flashlight from his pack, he froze. Compass had begun to growl. Low and even at first, then louder, a menacing, deep throated growl. He'd never heard Compass growl before. His neck fur roused, head slightly down, tail low and still, the big dog slowly raised one paw, then took two stealthy steps forward. Danny watched, fascinated. Then he heard it howling. Not close by, he figured, but close enough to put compass on guard. As far as Danny knew, there were no wolves in this region. He'd never heard a wolf howl before, and the yips and yaps in between the howls mystified him. Another dog, maybe? Traveling along with another nature lover like him? No, too dark for that now. Suddenly, Compass launched into the woods and disappeared. Compass cried Danny in a hoarse whisper. Compass, get back here. He didn't know what to do. Should he follow Compass or wait for him where he was? And where he was, he thought, was lost. He flushed hot and cold. He groped around nervously in his backpack for his flashlight. He felt a cold round object in there and pulled it out first. Another compass. Where'd that come from? He'd never seen it before. It was almost as scratched up as Vernon's, but a little bigger, and maybe older. He turned it over. Etched on the back were the words Daniel J Stone, Princess Pat Canada and a series of numbers. Daniel J, he murmured. His dad's name. His compass from the wars. He must have slipped it into Danny's backpack when he'd given them a lift that morning. He gripped it tighter as the howling got louder. It was a cool night, but he was starting to sweat. He pointed it to where compass had leapt into the brush north. That's where the trail started from the north. Was this showing true north? Then he pointed Vernon's compass in the same direction. Broken or not, its needle was just slightly off north. His dad had said magnetic north was always a little west of true north. Danny put it together with his early schooling. It had something to do with the electromagnetic field of the earth, like when animals sense an earthquake starting, like canaries in a coal mine. He looked down at each compass. None of this helped. He started to pace, muttering to himself War dog, he's a war dog. He'll come back. He'll come back, and he'll expect me to be where he left me. That's what they're trained to do. He couldn't leave, and he couldn't go look for him either. He had to stay put. He would wait for his dog no matter what. As he pulled an extra sweater over his head, he heard the loud yelp of an injured dog. All the howling abruptly stopped. All he could hear now were just yips and low growls. Whatever they were, they were a lot closer than he'd thought. Oh Jesus, is that him? Is he hurt? Oh please God, please don't let it be compass. Danny lost it. Compass, compass come back. Come back, compass. He yelled at the top of his lungs. He was beside himself, gripping his head and staggering like a drunk. Then he heard a voice behind him. Danny, Danny boy, thank Heaven I found you. A light shone from the other end of the clearing. His father stood facing him. He'd never seen his son like that. He'd heard the howling too, and he knew what the dog had done, exactly what he'd been trained to do protect and defend. He whistled. A long, loud, shrill whistle. Military grade. Nothing. Danny cast a desperate glance at his father. Don't worry, son. If he's alive, and he can creep or crawl, he'll come back. Now, sit yourself down somewhere, right there, yeah, that's good, and have a rest. You look like death warmed over and that's a fact. I'm not bringing you home to your mother in that state. There's nothing else for it. We just have to wait, that's all. He leaned over and put his hand on his son's shoulder. Don't worry, boy. We're not leaving your war dog behind. Not on my watch. And then, as if speaking to himself, we leave no one behind. His dark eyes flickered in the lamplight. And so that's what they did. They waited three hours together. His father had come well provisioned, a gas lamp, his hunting rifle, some food, a first aid kit, a can of alpo, blankets, you name it, even a portable stretcher. Taking it all in, Danny realized how worried his dad must have been when he hadn't returned home after dusk like he'd said he would. It was a new thought that his dad would be that worried about him. He had new thoughts to process about his own father. Like with Vernon, there were big gaps in Danny's education. Compass returned as silently as he'd left. He was limping, badly. A long bloody gash ran almost the length of his whole left flank. Good, his father said as he expertly checked him over. They didn't get him by the neck. Monday. Danny was just hanging up from a phone call with the vet. His father, who seemed engrossed in his newspaper, looked up sharply. So? Everything went well, really well, the vet said. He's an old dog, but in good shape, so he'll be fine, the vet said. It'll take a while. But with a good rest, I can bring him home in three days, this Thursday. Danny threw himself on the sofa, grinning. Then he sat up, glanced once or twice at his father, and took something out of his pocket. Dad, I've been meaning to return this to you. His father didn't even bother to look. He knew what it was. Not mine anymore, yours, he said. And this one isn't broken, he laughed. Danny cradled the compass in both his hands. Geez, thanks, Dad. This one this one shows true north, doesn't it? Not magnetic, like you said, right? Right. His father put down his newspaper. Cause I compared them, you know, yours and Vernon's after compass took off. And you know what, Dad? Compass pointed true north, just like yours, not magnetic north, like I figured dogs do, like you told me. No, Danny, he couldn't have. Animals feel the earth and the earth's crust. You made a mistake. Our dogs he stopped almost before the words were out of his mouth. Danny was surprised and excited all at the same time. Your dogs, Dad? You mean you were in the K9 units like like Vernon? No, no. But you said I know what I said. His father crossed his arms and looked out the big bay window. Betty was standing in the hallway. Tell him, Daniel. Tell Danny about Mac and his war dog. Danny's father turned to look at his wife, and Danny saw that same look on his face, sad, pained. The look he'd had when he'd first seen Vernon's compass. Go on, said his mother gently. Tell him. She went and sat in the matching armchair. Danny leaned forward, ready to be quiet and just listen, like Vernon had taught him. His dad didn't speak right away. He looked at the carpet, he looked back at the window, and then he looked at his wife. Even you don't know the whole story, Betty. Even you. Then his dark brown eyes settled on his son's face and stayed there. I wasn't the canines, but my pal McAuley Connor was. We'd grown up together. We did everything together. Hell, we even enlisted together. He always had dogs at home, two, three at a time. All kinds of dogs, taught them tricks and stuff, amazing what he could make them do, and they loved him all to bits. He had a way with dogs Mac did. So when we enlisted, he went straight for the dog units. I was in third battalion, Princess Patricia's light infantry. So we were separated, see? But that was okay. Our mothers were buddies, so we got updates about each other from the letters we'd send them from the field. That was misses Connor, that was, wasn't it, Daniel? His mother said. Oh, one of the sweetest women you could ever meet, Danny. I remember her so well. She was a pearl, a real lady, as we used to say. God rest her, she explained, smiling and nodding at her son. I was lucky, luckier than Mac, he got wounded. And when I found out I went to see him at the big vets hospital here in St. Anne's. I didn't know till I got there how smashed up he was. Shrapnel hit. Turns out he'd been asking for me too. He was all excited to see me, said he had a job for me, important job, his dog. He'd had to leave his dog back there, his canine dog, name of Rufus, mine sniffing dog. Mac had tried to find out about Rufus, where he was, when they were bringing all the dogs back, but he couldn't find out much. Nobody was talking, see? And he couldn't do much from his hospital bed. He asked me to find his dog and bring him back, back home, and well, if he didn't live, he made me promise to take the dog once I found him, give the dog a home with me. Give him a nice home on account of all that dog had done for him. Mac said that dog had saved his bacon more than a few times. He deserved to come home and have a good life. You never told me that, Daniel. You never told me that he asked you to keep the dog, said Betty, tears in her eyes. Yep, he did. And I would have kept him too, he looked at his son. I like dogs, always have. And even besides Mac, I heard stories from other men out there, fellow soldiers who told about what those dogs did, how many lives they'd saved. They were like a gift from God, one guy said, like warrior angels walking on tight ropes far ahead of the men, out there in the killing fields. I spent two solid years looking for Rufus, two years and a few months more. Danny quietly asked. You went back? You went back there, Nat I did, he answered, his eyes brimming, still fixed on his son's face. I most certainly did. Mac was my best friend, the best friend a man could have. I loved him. But I never found Rufus. The forces were no help, they what's the point? It's all so long ago now. But it did something to me. Yeah, the war changed me and all, but not finding Mac's dog? Well that really cut the heart out of me somehow. And every day I live, I pray that Mac forgives me. His father covered his eyes. Nobody spoke. Danny sat there as still as could be. He never knew. He'd had no idea. He would never have thought. He and his dad were more alike than he ever imagined, because his father did exactly what Danny himself had done when he was young. He'd just shut down, and that's what his dad had done, carrying this soul crushing burden all his adult life, all alone, this promise to a dying friend that he couldn't keep. Just like Danny's promise to Vernon, barely spoken, but understood. Vernon had said things even out in the end. Dad, he said, gently squeezing his dad's knee. Things even out in the end. Now we have Compass. He's a war dog like Rufus. He can be the promise we made to our friends that we can keep together, you and me. You and me, Dad. All the protagonists in Compass are men, so I did try to deepen my voice a little. If it didn't work, I trust that the storyline took over and your imagination did the rest. Like I said earlier, Compass is a study of character. Danny and his father, each in his own moment, are released from ancient hearts once compass enters their lives. I'm indebted to the site Dog Walker's Melbourne in Australia for explaining dog's ability to sense magnetic north. And the Conversation.com for explaining the difference between magnetic and true north. The great thing about this podcast for me is that I'm always learning something new, and when I do, I share it with you. Last time I said that I would fill you in about myself a little with each podcast. I grew up with horses and German shepherds, and as an adult trained a few dogs in my time. My own, A Bouvier de Flandre, and the Dogs of Friends, some more unruly than others. Unlike when I write, I have endless patience with animals. As mentioned on my Facebook page at Peculiar Pet Tales Podcasts, my next story will be set in 1596, during the reign of Elizabeth I, called A Knight of Cadiz. It might take a little longer to produce. I'm still researching the magnificent horses and wolfhounds of that era. Visit my Facebook page at Peculiar Pet Tales Podcasts for updates. I hope you enjoyed Compass. I hope it made you think about all the animals used in war since time immemorial. Everything I have to say about that is encapsulated in this short story. Thank you over and over again for following Peculiar Pet Tales Podcasts. Until next time, stay close, everyone.