“You’ll be lucky Ollie,” laughed Mrs Baker shaking her head. “Every morning that crow’s here, larking about, teasing him. And he never gives up. It’s the terrier in him, thinks he can catch anything that moves.”
“Let’s see if he’ll come over for some of these,” Patsy said as she put the last tray of biscuits out on the table. “Ollie, come! Come Ollie!”
Across the park, Ollie’s ears twitched when he heard his name, but, his sharp, hazel eyes didn’t leave the black bird and he didn’t move an inch. This was a task requiring total concentration. The human on the end of the calling voice would have to wait. Which he was sure she would, she always did. Just one more go, he thought. This time, this flipping time, I’ll get you. I’m a terrier you know. You’re just a crow. An annoying feathered creature. You’re only a bird. Just because you can fly you think you can beat me at this? Well, I’m a dog, and not just any dog, I’m a Jack Russell terrier. And I can run. I can run and run. I can outrun anyone and one day, one day, I’ll get you, I will. The thoughts were pelting around Ollie’s mind and just as he was about to spring into action, the voice disturbed his concentration once again:
“Ohhhhh… llie, Ohhhhhh… llie. HERE! Ollie!”
Grrrr. Wait. Wait, I’m busy, Ollie thought, hearing his name again. Can’t they see I’m busy?
“You’re not still trying to get that bird are you?” Willow asked, as she ran up to Ollie’s side. “Come on, they’re finally getting the cake out. Leave the bird for later.” She ran in a circle around her friend, and stopped still, right in front of him so he could no longer see the bird without having to peer around her body.
“Oh, ok, seeing as it’s you,” Ollie said, refocusing his gaze onto her, his concentration broken now anyway. Willow looked especially pretty stood in front of him, her black eyes sparkling. He’d always had a soft spot for her. Mmmm, yes, she was worth putting the bird aside for. And did she say cake? He was, now he thought about it, feeling quite famished.
8
That is happiness; to be dissolved into something complete and great. When it comes to one, it comes as naturally as sleep.
Willa Cather, My Ántonia
Willow lay on the rug, stretched out on her side, her ribcage gently lifting and falling with each quiet, sleepy breath. She was exhausted after her party in the park and with her belly full of food, she was happily stuffed. There was no finer feeling than this, she thought. The food had been wolfed down by everybody, not a scrap had been left by the time her friends had finished and headed off home. Her birthday cake had been a huge success with everyone, and although Willow was happy to share it with her friends, a tiny slice of her thought it would have been perfectly fine if someone hadn’t wanted their share, and she could have had a teeny bit more. But, as it was, she’d eaten so much that, as she drifted in and out of sleep on the rug, too sleepy to move into her bed, she wondered if she’d ever need to eat again.
“That went well, you pleased?” Tom asked Patsy as they sat together on the sofa.
“Really pleased. It’s so lovely seeing the dogs all happy together. Just running about, being themselves. They’re a lovely bunch.”
“Did you see the state of Kai and Alfie? Head to tail covered in mud!” Tom said, shaking his head with a grin.
“And Daisy-Mae, she gobbled up that cake with less finesse than Darcie,” chuckled Patsy. “It was all over her gorgeous white face by the time she’d finished, so funny!”
“Willow had a great time. All that running around and excitement’s wiped her out,” Tom said, looking down at Willow who was now snoring softly. “Dogs really don’t ask for a lot do they?”
“Nope, they certainly don’t. Friends, running around, playing with their mates, fresh air, a few games and good food. That’s it, the simple, happy life of a dog!” Patsy laughed.
Then, her smile faded, “Did you hear what Di was saying about that little puppy Beebee, we met a couple of weeks ago?” Patsy lifted her feet to rest them on Tom’s legs, and lay back against the pile of soft cushions.
“Just caught the end of it. She’s been in the vet for something or other hasn’t she?”
“Yep, been really ill apparently, nearly died. Some infection the vet thinks she must have had when they first bought her,” Patsy sighed. “It’s cost them a fortune getting her better, she’s had days in the hospital, but thankfully she’s pulled through. The kids have been really upset of course.”
“Di said they’d got her from somewhere that wasn’t nice, but as soon as they saw her, they couldn’t leave her there, so bought her and took her home. Sad eh, but good for little Beebee,” Tom said.
“Oh it is. It’s horrible because the chances are, she probably came from a puppy farm or somewhere just as bad. Apparently when they tried to get in touch with the breeder and let them know the puppy was ill, they couldn’t get hold of the woman. Disappeared. Must have been one of those dealers I’ve been reading about.”
“Dealers?”
“They buy puppies from puppy farmers and sell them, pretending to be the breeder, they fool people all the time and make loads of money while they’re at it. It’s flipping awful. But, Beebee’s going to be ok now, thank goodness… but… makes me worry about her mum and where she is, doesn’t it you?” said Patsy.
“Yep, but what can you do?”
“The more I hear about all of this with puppies and puppy farming, and dealers, the more I know that getting Willow a new sister is something I’m going to do really carefully. I’m glad I’ve decided to adopt and not buy a puppy,” Patsy said.
“Have to say, thinking about it and hearing about puppy Beebee today, I think you’re right,” Tom replied. “When you look at how happy Charlie is, and Darcie, both dogs who’ve been adopted, both really happy, no trouble at all. Well, if we ignore Darcie and her farting,” he grinned.
“Yep. I know there’s no need at all for me to buy a puppy to have a great new friend for us all, we’ll definitely find the perfect dog to rehome. I’ll take my time, I know for sure the right one’ll come along,” Patsy said.
“I don’t think Willow’s going to move again tonight do you? She’s certainly not needing any supper by the look of her,” Tom said, as Willow with a satisfied grunt, rolled over onto her back, legs in the air, showing off her plump, cake-filled tummy.
9
My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt.
Anna Sewell, Black Beauty
I hear the Man in the barn but can’t yet see him. I can’t see out of the space I’m trapped in, as the concrete walls are high. Even when I was young, standing on my back legs I was never able to see over the wall, however hard I stretched and tried. All I can see are stark, concrete walls, and if I look up, the tin roof of the barn high above me. That’s it. That’s been my view for all these years.
Except, when the Man comes. Then, the cobweb covered, rusting metal gate across the doorway to my pen is pulled back and I can, if I’m quick, catch a glimpse of a dirty, dusty pathway running outside my cell. On the other side of the path is another row of identical heavy iron gates and concrete pens. Prisons. The gate’s never open long, and mostly, I cower at the back of my prison, away from the gate as I fear the Man might grab, or kick me.
One awful day, when I was young and curious, I tried to peer out to see what lay beyond the walls that enclosed me. But the Man thought I was trying to escape and he slammed the gate shut, catching my leg between the gate and the concrete wall. Oh, the pain that shot through me in that split second as the heavy, steel gate crushed my leg. As I screamed, the Man looked down at me, shouting words of anger, his cruel face full of hate as he stomped off and left me.
I was in agony for ages afterwards but no help came. I cried for my mum who I hadn’t seen for so long. I wanted h
er warm, soft body to huddle with. I craved her comforting cuddles. I remembered how sweet that feeling was when I was a puppy as I nuzzled in with her, among my brothers and sisters. As I lay on the cold, hard floor, I ached with sorrow and pain. Slowly, over many weeks my leg healed itself, but I’ve limped ever since. Not that I’ve had the chance to walk far in all these years. Just to and fro across the small square of my concrete cell.
What’s that? I can hear the Man talking to someone, a woman. This is new, I’ve never heard her voice before. They’re close by, must be standing at the pen next door to mine. Come to think about it, I haven’t heard the dog in there for several days now. She used to be one of the noisier ones, sadly crying out, barking at all hours. In recent times, her voice has been weak, fading each day. I don’t think the Man has been bringing her food as I’ve not heard him visit next door for some while now. The last time I heard anything, she was struggling to drag herself across her pen and that was days ago; there’s been only chilling silence since.
Now what’s this? I can hear the Man and woman speaking in sharper tones, my empty tummy flips over in fear. Suddenly, my neighbour’s gate scrapes open, bringing a loud muffled gasp from the strange woman, followed by words I can’t grasp. This is like nothing I’ve ever known. The atmosphere has changed, there’s a frisson all around, but in the muddle I can’t make out what I’m sensing. Despite my tired mind, through my weakness and fear I know something new is bristling on the air. Just as I’m struggling to gather enough strength to lift my nose higher, to prick my ears sharper…
BOOOFFF!
… the rusty, dusty gate is thrust open and there she stands. Owner of the voice.
I drop my eyes to the floor. She’s standing there so big and tall, in her dark, smart uniform. I learnt long ago not to look directly at people. Looking at them brings trouble. Although my body is too weak to move much, I shrink back deeper into the corner of my pen, hoping to disappear from this unkind world, or at least from her. I try to hide my face, lowering my head, turning away from her, flattening my ears. I’m terrified of what might be about to happen. My heart’s pounding, fear’s rushing through my veins.
Above me, I can hear her speaking to the Man, who’s replying in his gravelly, gruff voice. But hang on, he sounds different, his voice is quieter. It has none of its usual angry force. Out of the corner of my left eye I catch sight of his dirty black boot; I’ve seen and felt that hard, cruel toe enough times to know that it’s his.
Why are they standing there? What are they saying in a tight, choked exchange? Her voice is calm but firm. His? Well, it’s the voice I’ve heard in all my tormented years, but now it seems to have lost its power. I’m confused and terror trembles deep inside me as none of this seems good. Maybe if I stay crouched, rock-still, they will go and leave me and all this will end.
Oh no, oh no, what’s she doing now? She’s moving into my pen, closer she comes, stepping carefully across the floor, picking her way past the piles of my poop that lie around. I stay rigid, trying not to breathe. My throat is tight with fear as she arrives at my side. Although I want to get away I can’t risk it, and I try to stop myself trembling. If I make a wrong move, who knows what she’ll do to me? Her smell fills my nose; it’s like nothing I’ve ever smelt. It’s kind of sweet, and as it enters my nose it lingers there; it’s not unpleasant, in fact it has an appealing sugariness about it. This is weird and it’s muddling my mind as I try to sort out all this newness.
I keep my eyes on the floor and look hard at one tiny speck of dirt among all the other filth there is around. If I keep looking at this small spot of black muck it will stop me from moving, my head from lifting and my eyes from seeing her. Down, down, I must keep my head down, my eyes fixed on the dirty spot there. It’s right in front of my nose. I can do this, I can stay still and it’ll all be over. She’ll go. She’ll leave me alone.
She’s very close to me now, kneeling on the dirty floor, in the grubby spatter of sawdust that’s been there forever. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her black trouser leg, it’s within reaching distance of me. She could touch me if she stretched, just a little. I don’t know what to do. I’m frantic inside, I can feel my heart thumping hard in my chest. Should I try to move away? No, I desperately must not move as I’m slow these days and she will surely grab me.
I can hear her breathing, it’s slow and deep, and there’s something else coming from her. I don’t think they’re words, although it is a whispering sound I hear. No, she’s not speaking, at least they’re not words that I know. Or even sounds which I’ve heard before. Like her unusual smell, these noises are all new. It’s a soft murmuring that gently enters my muck-filled, smelly ears which have known only terrible sounds of terror and cruelty. This noise soothes my painful, infected ears.
I’m mighty confused, scared, and finding it hard to keep my gaze fixed on the dark spot of dirt. Where is the Man? I dare not lift my head to see if he’s still standing there, or if he’s with her, here close in my pen somewhere. But I can’t stay like this for much longer. My back and hips and knees are burning with pain. I need to shift position, just a little, but if I move, what will she do?
OUCH!
OUCH!
Oh no!
NO!
No, no, this is terrifying. She has me in her hands. She’s got hold of me. She made a grab and stood up straight with me clasped in her arms and I’m now rising into the air. High up, up, higher I go in her arms. What on earth’s happening? She’s holding me close to her chest. I’m so scared I can’t breathe. This is terrible. Awful. Scary. My leg’s hurting, my hip is screaming with pain and she has me clasped in her arms so tight that I’m sure I will snap. Where is she taking me?
10
I don’t understand it any more than you do, but one thing I’ve learned is that you don’t have to understand things for them to be.
Madeleine L’Engle, A Wrinkle In Time
“Your new sister’s going to be a very special dog, and you’re going to be a great friend for her. She’s a dog no one’s ever loved,” Patsy whispered into Willow’s grey, fluffy ear late one morning as they were cuddling on the sofa. With a little wriggle Willow slid down against Patsy’s arm, turned onto her back and, with a deep sigh rested her head back against the sofa’s armrest. That was better, now she was perfectly comfy.
“We’ll put that right won’t we?” Patsy said, running her fingers through Willow’s white tummy fluff. “We’ll show her what it’s like to be loved and spoilt rotten,” she smiled, bending her head to blow a muffled raspberry on Willow’s soft, round belly.
Willow loved these lazy mornings, and hearing Patsy talk about her new sister made this an extra special one. It wasn’t long after her birthday, and Patsy had been busy looking into adopting a dog. Each day she’d been scouring the internet, speaking on the phone and becoming, in Willow’s opinion, a tad obsessed. At least all the research that was done assured Willow that whoever was coming into their lives had been thoroughly thought about, and well prepared for. Today was an important day. It was the day she was going to hear all about the dog Patsy had found, who was to be her new sister, as someone from the rescue charity was coming to talk to Patsy.
Willow really liked the idea of a sister, she’d been thinking about it a lot since her birthday, with plans and thoughts buzzing in and out of her head for days. For a start, she couldn’t wait to share all her favourite walks. There were so many good places Willow planned on sharing, a million great routes for sniffing and running, it was going to be exciting to explore together. Then there were her toys. She turned her head a little on the armrest and looked over at her overflowing, wicker toy basket that sat under the window. Yes, she could and would let her new sister play with most of her toys, after all she had plenty to share. Although, as she spotted poking out of the top of the basket the orange leg of her special, squishy octopus, she wondered if she might
save that one, just that particular toy for herself; it really was her favourite. Willow wasn’t quite sure if she could bear to share it with anyone, not even her brand new sister.
As Patsy stroked her tummy, Willow looked up at the ceiling and thought about what Patsy had been discovering over recent weeks. On many afternoons, Willow had sat at her feet while Patsy was tapping away on her computer, trawling for information. Sometimes she’d be upset at something on the screen, and Willow would snuggle onto her feet to offer comfort. It always worked, as one of Patsy’s hands would slide down and stroke Willow’s ears, letting her know she was fine. Sometimes she’d say what she’d found: she told Willow of dogs in sheds, in barns, being kept for years in the dark; poorly puppies with their sick mums and dads being rescued and taken to new lives, safe in the arms of their rescuers.
Some days it all got too upsetting and up from her desk Patsy would jump, grab Willow’s lead, and out they’d go for a brisk walk and fresh air. As she strode along with Willow, taking deep breaths it cleared her head to be outdoors walking. Willow didn’t mind, she was always keen to go for a walk so long as it wasn’t raining. She couldn’t imagine how dogs in puppy farms could live without walking, never having the chance to explore or run. It pained her to ponder how unhappy they must be.
Then not long ago, Patsy had found a small charity that rescued dogs from puppy farms. Willow had listened intently while Patsy told Tom, her voice full of barely contained excitement; she’d said the charity took any dogs they could from the puppy farms and found new families for them to go and live with. They needed families. They needed people like Patsy. She’d lost no time making contact with the charity. They’d asked her lots of questions and told Patsy that her and Willow sounded like a great new family for one of their special dogs to join. And that was how today had become the special day, as arrangements were made for someone called Val from the charity to visit, and tell them all about the dogs the charity rescued, in particular the dog who Patsy hoped would become Willow’s new sister.
Saving Maya Page 4
