But I knew that, yet again, I had a choice to make.
I could stick with the plan and leave Gobi in Kiki’s care for the next twenty-nine days while we waited for the all-clear on her rabies blood test. I could get on with my work, get back to spending quality time with Lucja, and wait for Gobi to be flown back to the UK, where she’d then spend four months in a secure kennel quarantine. We’d be able to visit her if we wanted, but it was not recommended because the confusion it caused for dogs was frequently traumatic. So if she did ride out the quarantine in the UK, she’d have to do it alone.
The other option was for Gobi to wait the twenty-nine days for the all-clear on the rabies and then spend ninety days living a normal life in Beijing rather than four months locked in a UK facility. With the right tests and paperwork at the end of the ninety days, she could then fly back to the UK without having to set a paw in a quarantine facility.
I knew I could trust Kiki. She had been great right from the very first e-mails we exchanged. But was it fair to leave her the burden of looking after a dog for so long that—just maybe—someone was planning to steal from her? Could I be sure that every single visitor to the kennels would be legit? Could Kiki be asked to maintain that level of vigilance and still run her business at the same time?
I felt guilty leaving Gobi, and if something happened to her again as it did after the first time I said goodbye, I doubted I would have the strength to push through it. I had reached the edges of what I thought I could endure. All I wanted was for these problems to fade away, for the threats to stop, and for Lucja and me to get back to the job of bringing Gobi home.
I knew exactly what I had to do. After hours of thinking it through on my final flight back to the UK, I came up with a plan—the only solution that made any kind of sense.
The trouble was, I had absolutely no idea how I was going to explain it to Lucja or to my boss. They’d think I’d lost it completely.
PART 6
21
Saying goodbye to Lucja was difficult. I had been home only a week when, for the second time in less than a month, I bought a last-minute plane ticket and made the twelve-hour journey back to China. I’ve travelled a lot for work over the years, but this was different. This time I’d be gone for four months.
I’d thought it through, and it all made perfect sense. I needed to go back to Beijing and be with Gobi until her rabies results came through. After that, I figured I might as well stay the following three months so we could live together. The alternative of four months alone in quarantine outside Heathrow Airport simply wasn’t an option. I couldn’t leave her alone again. A 120-day sentence would turn her into a different dog.
Just like Lucja, my bosses were wholly understanding and supportive. As soon as I returned from Beijing, I phoned and told them I was worried about Gobi, even though we’d finally found her. I mentioned that there were mysterious things going on behind the scenes and that I had to go back to China and spend the duration of the quarantine period with Gobi. I offered to resign, but they refused. Instead, they rushed through approval for a six-month sabbatical. That allowed me to leave the UK knowing I could focus fully on Gobi and have a job to come back to once the dust settled. In the eleven years I’d been working for them, I’d never known of anyone else taking a sabbatical for something like this, and I was staggered by their kindness.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. I think it takes almost half a planet to rescue a dog. At least, that’s what it seemed like with Gobi. So many people had helped, from the thousands of supporters who had given money online to the search team who had pounded the streets and gone without sleep in Urumqi. My work colleagues had covered for me, and my bosses had given me generous time off. Kiki and her team had already done much more than I could have asked, and Lucja—who was also surrounded by an army of caring, supportive friends—never once wavered in her unrelenting support of my crazy mission. I could only do what I did because of the help of all those people.
I was looking forward to arriving back in Beijing and seeing Gobi again. I knew Kiki would take great care of her, but in the back of my mind was the thought that anything was possible. At times it seemed as though every other Facebook message I received was yet another warning not to trust anyone and not to let Gobi out of my sight.
Kiki met me at the airport. I climbed into the back of the van to have my face covered in doggie kisses as Gobi scrambled all over me, her tail going a million miles an hour. My reception was just like the night we were reunited back at the Ma family home. Gobi’s joy was infectious, and the van was soon full of tears and laughter.
When she had finally calmed down enough for me to speak, I held her in the crook of my arm and said, “I guess this is where you and I start our new life together.” She stared back at me, those big eyes locked on mine, just as they had been during the race. My head told me that she couldn’t understand what I was saying, but my heart said otherwise. This little dog knew exactly what I meant. And I was convinced that in her own way, she was telling me that whatever the next stage of the adventure held for us, she was all in.
Kiki had found us a place to stay for the first night, but the next day it was time to find a proper home for Gobi and me. With four months to wait until she had passed the strict UK requirements, I wanted to make sure we found a home where she would feel comfortable and safe.
So, like a couple of college graduates who had just moved to a new city, we went looking for a home.
The first place belonged to another pet owner, also one of Kiki’s clients. The man was temporarily moving his family back to Mexico and had generously offered to let us stay free of charge while we were in Beijing.
It was a beautiful home in a gated community. High-end cars drove along pristine streets and parked in front of perfectly manicured lawns. The owner and his two dogs welcomed us warmly, and I was pleased to see Gobi trot up and give both the Labradors a friendly sniff and follow them around the den.
“Let me show you the rest of the house,” said the owner as he stepped over a low wooden barrier at the bottom of the stairs.
Instinctively I picked up Gobi and lifted her over.
“Oh,” he said. “No dogs upstairs. They stay down here.”
Oh dear, I thought. “Okay,” I said, putting Gobi back down on the other side of the barrier.
Before I’d taken my second step, Gobi was whimpering. By the time I’d gotten halfway up, she had pushed her way through the barrier and was right beside me. I picked her up and followed the guy into an immaculate lounge area that looked as if it was prepped for a Vogue photo shoot.