ALLEN & SANDRA PARTON
ENDAL
How one extraordinary dog brought
a family back from the brink
WITH GILL PAUL
HarperTrue
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2009
Copyright © Allen and Sandra Parton 2009
Allen and Sandra Parton assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work
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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.
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.