I hope you are all having a lovely Christmas. May all your wishes come true.

oOo

CHAPTER EIGHT

Where we meet a faithful friend.

"How did you get into this?" d'Artagnan asked on one of his first evenings, when they were sitting in front of an open fire behind the house, off-duty, drinking beer. He knew Porthos and Athos had been soldiers and Aramis had moved around before holding a lucrative medical position in Paris, but he was curious as to their change in careers.

"Got fed up of inhospitable places," Porthos replied, poking at the fire with a stick, and watching as the flames crackled and sparks lifted effortlessly into the night sky.

African days were hot, to say the least, but the nights could be cold and the fire-pit was a welcome place where they could gather, cook steaks, let off a little steam or relax; listening to the sounds that surrounded them, under the pitch black star-strewn skies.

"This place must have its moments," d'Artagnan said.

"It does, but the animals more than make up for it," Athos replied, speaking for the first time.

"How long have you been involved with animals?" Aramis asked the young man then.

"I grew up on a farm in Lupiac in Gascony," d'Artagnan replied, "and then, during my training, I worked in a number of zoo's and sanctuaries, before transferring to Paris. I always wanted to work with the large animals. I'd just spent a year on Kruger before Treville talked me into coming here. It's nice to be my own boss."

"You don't look old enough to have done all that," Porthos said.

"I'm twenty nine!" d'Artagnan sighed. "I get that all the time. Three years Uni, seven years vet training, one year in Africa.

"You might look a bit older if you cut yer hair," Porthos laughed.

d'Artagnan's hand rose unconsciously and stroked his long dark hair away from the left side of his face, tucking it behind one ear. He then tucked both hands under his arms defensively. He looked about twenty, Porthos thought, watching him in amusement.

"What about you?" d'Artagnan asked, looking at the large dark-skinned man now intent on feeding an equally large white dog the last of his steak.

"Ex Army," Porthos said. "I bought a zoo. Behind a bar. It was a mess. Didn't like to think of the animals suffering, so I bought it. That's how I got into this. Treville was our CO," he said, looking at Athos, "We were on vacation in France at the time, me and Ath. I thought Treville would go mad, but he helped us rescue the lions from the bar. I didn't want to keep them in captivity so he put us in touch with the Born Free Foundation and we eventually repatriated them in Namibia. We released them about eighteen months ago. We keep track of them and they're doin' fine."

Porthos looked at Athos, who smiled gently back at him, his face softened by the memory.

"What about the rest of the zoo?" d'Artagnan asked.

"All rehomed. They were mainly monkeys. There weren't many but then I shut it down, and sold it to a property developer. He built apartments, and I sunk the profit into this place."

"You all have shares?"

"Me and Athos do. Aramis came later. It's up to him if he wants to buy in," Porthos added.

Aramis smiled. He was quite at home here and in all probability, he too would invest in Heshima.

Athos had not spoken much, and d'Artagnan couldn't read him at all. He was due to go out on a tour of the reserve with him in the morning, so he may learn a little more about him then. Or maybe not. At that point, Athos rose and said goodnight, before striding off to check the Garrison's perimeter fencing and buildings.

d'Artagnan watched him go, before turning to Porthos.

"What about him?" d'Artagnan asked, once he was out of earshot.

"Athos was our Captain," Porthos replied. He said no more. There was obviously a story there, but d'Artagnan didn't want to push it. After a few moments though, Porths leant over conspiratorially.

"He's also a Comte. Don't tell him I told you. And don't mention it."

d'Artagnan's eyebrows rose to his hairline. He nodded toward the dog, which had been sitting with them and had followed Athos away from the fire and now stuck with him as he checked the fencing.

"That's Musket," Porthos said, following d'Artagnan's gaze.

He was a large, short-coated white dog, with a long muzzle and over-large ears which went whichever way they wanted. His only colouring was a dark brown patch over one eye. d'Artagnan had noticed that one of the dog's eyes was a pale blue and the other was brown.

"Athos rescued 'im from a dog fighting ring in a local township. He was only a pup back then. They were takin' bets on how long he would last against two wild dogs they had in a cage around the back. Half an hour later, the wild dog's cage was empty and Musket was in the back of Athos's truck."

It turned out the dog was deaf, Porthos explained. "Though, he don't know it. He makes up for it with his sense of smell, an' there ain't nothin' wrong with his eyesight."

"Athos christened 'im "Musket, because of his "loud staccato bark," as he put it; probably due to his deafness."

"Athos has taught him signs," Aramis took up the tale. "They communicate quietly, using signs and body language. Musket has grown from a frightened, anxious puppy into a one-man well adjusted dog that would protect his master with his life."

"He's got spooky eyes though," Porthos added.

d'Artagnan nodded;

"Hereditary deafness is most commonly linked to the genes which influence pigmentation of the coat and eyes. If the inner ear is unpigmented then development can be interrupted resulting in deafness. White, merle and piebald coated dogs are most prone to this, and since the same genes influence eye colour, many have blue eyes. Occasionally, one blue, one brown, like him," d'Artagnan said.

He looked up and saw two pairs of brown eyes looking quizzically at him.

"Sorry. Here endeth the lesson," he grinned.

d'Artagnan continued watching Athos, who was now making his way to his quarters, dog in tow.

Not only an animal lover, but a soft-hearted one.

This man sounded interesting.

To be continued ...

oOo

A/N

Some years ago, we rescued a very poorly, very underweight Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She had been born deaf, and used for breeding (can you believe it!). She had never seen the outside world; everything was new, despite being around five years old. I had to teach her everything. It was some weeks before I could leave the house, such was her anxiety. Gradually, I taught her signs and she became more relaxed. We had her for three years, and she travelled the UK with us.

Deaf dogs are like velcro. They stick to you like glue. A bit of patience and slow, steady movements, a cosy bed and lots of "thumbs up" works wonders. Rosie became a lovely, loving dog. She finally got her break. I believe she really enjoyed those last three years of her life with us. Sadly, she was taken suddenly, but I had the honour of helping her from this world, from her favourite place, wrapped in my arms. So from Rosie and me, please do not be put off if the dog you are considering is deaf. The rewards are immense.

I dedicate this chapter to that little scrap with big brown eyes, who got her second chance, and taught me much.