Sandra Parton - Endal - How one extraordinary dog brought a family back from the brink

ALLEN & SANDRA PARTON

ENDAL

How one extraordinary dog brought

a family back from the brink

WITH GILL PAUL

HarperTrue

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollins Publishers 2009

Copyright © Allen and Sandra Parton 2009

Allen and Sandra Parton assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Every effort has been made to trace the owners of copyright material reproduced herein. The publishers would like to apologise for any omissions and will be pleased to incorporate missing acknowledgements in any future editions.

Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2012 ISBN: 9780007322718

Version: 2018-08-23

To Liam and Zoe.

Also, to the 900,000 servicemen and women in Britain today who were injured serving Queen and country, and in memory of all those who didn’t return.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Foreword

CHAPTER ONE: Allen

CHAPTER TWO: Sandra

CHAPTER THREE: Allen

CHAPTER FOUR: Sandra

CHAPTER FIVE: Allen

CHAPTER SIX: Sandra

CHAPTER SEVEN: Allen

CHAPTER EIGHT: Sandra

CHAPTER NINE: Allen

CHAPTER TEN: Sandra

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Allen

CHAPTER TWELVE: Sandra

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Allen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Sandra

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Allen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Sandra

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Allen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Allen

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Sandra

CHAPTER TWENTY: Allen

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Sandra

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Allen

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Sandra

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Allen

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Sandra

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Allen

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: Sandra

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Allen

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Sandra

CHAPTER THIRTY: Allen

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Sandra

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Allen

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Sandra

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: Allen

EPILOGUE: Sandra

Acknowledgements

Plates

About the Author

About the Publisher

During the summer of 1999, a News of the World reporter in Havant, Hampshire, saw something he’d never seen before: a dog using a cashpoint machine. Right in front of him, a yellow Labrador inserted a card into the slot, waited while its owner, a sandy-haired man in a wheelchair, keyed in the PIN number, and then it carefully removed the card and the cash. The reporter blinked hard, wondering if he was hallucinating.

When he spoke to the man, a disabled ex-serviceman called Allen Parton, he found out that the dog’s name was Endal and that using a cashpoint machine was just one of his many amazing skills. The News of the World article that followed seemed to fire the readers’ imagination and soon many other newspapers, magazines, TV and radio shows were vying to find out about this exceptional dog.

They only learned a small part of the story, though. They thought they had found a performing dog, while in fact Endal was a one-off phenomenon, an unsung hero who had a profound talent for helping people in need. It would be a few more years before the full story emerged.

I opened my eyes. The room was fuzzy and the bright overhead lights were surrounded by blurred haloes. Something hard and uncomfortable was round my neck, digging into me.

‘Are you all right, Allen? Glad to see you’re with us again.’ The voice was cheerful. A woman. I could make out her dark shape by the bed.

‘Where am I?’ I tried to say, but my throat felt tight and the words came out like a harsh coughing sound.

‘You’re in Haslar Royal Naval Hospital in Gosport. You had an accident, remember? In the Gulf?’

The Gulf of what? Gulf of Mexico? Gulf of Bothnia? Persian Gulf? Didn’t this woman know how many gulfs there were in the world? And then I remembered. I’m in the Navy. I’m a Chief Petty Officer. I’ve been serving in the Gulf War.

‘You flew back from Dubai overnight and got here this morning. You must be tired after the journey.’

I struggled to sit up and the nurse took my arm to help. I grabbed at the plastic collar round my neck.

‘Better leave that for now until you’ve been checked over,’ she said.

I wanted to ask when I would be seeing a doctor, but my mind went blank on the word ‘doctor’. What were these people called again? The ones with stethoscopes, who told you what was wrong with you?

‘Medical …?’ I stuttered, then a compulsive twitch made my shoulders shudder.

She answered for me: ‘A doctor will be round to see you shortly. Do you want to have a wash first?’

I nodded yes, and swung my legs round to put my feet on the floor. Everything about the way I was moving was odd and unconnected. My body felt as though it belonged to someone else and I was struggling to control it. What was going on? I leant on the bedside cabinet to push myself up and noticed there was no sensation in my hand or arm, only a kind of pins and needles.

‘The toilet is this way,’ the nurse pointed. ‘I think I’d better come with you.’

‘No!’ I waved her away rudely and forced my left foot to take a step forwards, then followed with the right. I had to think consciously about each step, willing my feet to move. This was very strange.

In the bathroom, I pushed the door shut and leant against it, breathing heavily with the effort of crossing the room. There was a mirror opposite so I lurched across to peer into it.

I looked more or less the same: a bit tired maybe, but otherwise OK. There was a large bruise on my temple that felt tender when I pressed it. The neck collar was grubby, as though I’d been wearing it for some time.

I splashed water on my face, trying to remember what had happened and why I was there. I’d been in an accident in the Gulf, she said. What kind of accident? Nothing at all came back to me. I must have had a bump on the head. That would explain the bruise. Well, it would all come back later, I decided.