In the waiting room at the vet, Willow sat quietly fretting at Patsy’s feet, while Maya lay shivering in her arms. What if Maya didn’t get better? Yes, Patsy had promised she would, and so far, Patsy had never broken a promise, but, Willow knew Maya was dangerously ill. More ill than Willow had ever seen a dog. Even ancient, wrinkly Doris when she’d last been seen in Kettlecroft Park, the day before she died last winter, didn’t poop like Maya had this morning, or look as ill as she did cradled in Patsy’s arms. No, Willow desperately wanted to trust Patsy knew best, but, she had a bad feeling about this. Poor Maya had suffered so much in her life, her body had been battered and weakened so deeply over the years, that Willow wasn’t sure her sister had the strength to pull through this time.
Willow’s sadness and worry grew as she turned her head again to look up at her sister. She wanted nothing more than to take away Maya’s pain, to nurse her back to health. She was overcome with a need to comfort her and stood up on her back legs, placing her paws on Patsy’s knee, searching out her sister’s face which was nestled deep in the green, knitted blanket she was wrapped up in. As their noses touched, Willow gave her sister’s muzzle a soft, slow lick of comfort.
“Be strong Maya. Please be strong. You’ll be all right. You’ll see, the vet’ll get you better. He will, really, promise he will,” she whispered, hoping from the bottom of her heart that what she said was true.
“Come through,” she heard a male voice above her as Patsy stood up and, with Maya in her arms they all followed the young vet in blue scrubs along the corridor into his consulting room. Willow tried hard not to be alarmed by the bombardment of clinical smells and bright lights. She knew this was where her sister needed to be. It smelt of efficiency.
The vet listened intently as Patsy rattled through events, giving detailed descriptions of Maya’s symptoms, and her past.
“She’s a dog who’s really not had a good life, she’s suffered more than we can imagine,” she said, stroking Maya’s neck as the dog lay on the steel examination table.
The vet asked a few more questions, took Maya’s temperature and examined her with gentle, confident hands.
“Mmm, she’s in a lot of pain poor girl, but we can help that,” he said, preparing the first of a few injections. “I’m giving her something for the pain which will start working now, and I’ll send you home with pills to give her over the next few days. I’m also giving something to settle her sickness and diarrhoea.”
“Is she going to be ok?” Patsy anxiously asked, carefully wrapping Maya in her arms to lift her down from the table. She stood her on the floor with Willow, who immediately shuffled closer, to be as near as she could to her sister, seeking to comfort her with the closeness of her body.
“She will, yes, so long as you give her the pills, and watch her closely over the next 24 hours,” the vet handed Patsy a small packet, “she has a nasty tummy bug, but with what I’ve just given her, and your swift action today bringing her in, she should be well on the road to recovery by tomorrow. But, if she gets any worse, or continues vomiting, or you’re worried at all, you must bring her straight back. But, really I think she’s best off with you at home for now.”
Patsy gave a huge sigh of relief, “Oh my goodness, thank you, I’m SO thankful… I’ve been frantic thinking we might lose her.”
“Really, she’s not out of the woods, but I’m sure she’s going to be fine, she’s a fighter this little one,” the vet said, opening the consulting room door for Patsy and dogs.
Outside by the car, Patsy knelt down close to Maya, and whispered, “Come on, let’s get you both home, you’re going to be ok, I promise.” Willow nuzzled into the other side of Patsy’s face and gave a low, throaty noise of agreement. Wrapping her arm around Willow, bringing her in closer still, Patsy felt a single tear of love-filled relief slide down her cheek. “If only you both knew how much you mean to me, and how much I love you both,” she whispered.
“Gosh, it’s such a relief,” she said to Tom on the phone later that evening, “she’s doing miles better tonight than she was earlier. There’s been no sickness now since this morning. Whatever magic medicine the vet gave her seems to have done the trick. Thank goodness, I was so worried, when I saw the blood, I honestly thought we were going to lose her.”
“Good news!” Tom said, “She’s had more than her share of suffering in her life, must have been horrible seeing her so poorly.”
“It really was, but, the vet said she’s a fighter, and she certainly is. Guess that helped keep her alive all those years in the puppy farm. So sad. But, we’re not thinking about that now, she doesn’t need me to dwell on any of that… she’s getting better, that’s all that matters.”
“And how’s Willow coped?”
Patsy looked down at Willow, who was nestled in bed with Maya, her sleeping head resting on Maya’s bottom, “She’s been a star, she really has. She’s not left Maya’s side all day.”
“Perfect!” Tom said. “You couldn’t have hoped for closer sisters could you?”
“Not at all, they’re special, really special together,” Patsy smiled, her heart warm at the closeness of her dogs, and her love for them both.
21
You cannot stop the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can stop them nesting in your hair.
Eva Ibbotson, The Dragonfly Pool
In the puppy farm I had to learn ways to survive. If I hadn’t, I would not have lasted all those years. I think this helped to pull me through my recent sickness, that plus the love and care given to me by Patsy and Willow.
Some of the dogs in the puppy farm never did learn to cope and their lives were short and terrible. We were all there to produce puppies for the Man. That’s all. It sounds simple, but it’s not. It’s horrible and nasty. When we didn’t produce puppies we disappeared. The Man no longer had use of us. He kept only those that gave him what he wanted: puppies to sell.
I knew all through those long years that it wasn’t the life I should have been living. I don’t know how I knew it, perhaps it was my ancestors calling down through the ages to me, urging me to struggle on, to survive so that one day my true life would begin. And now it has, and I’m loving it and will fight to stay and enjoy it for as long as I can.
I’ve been living with my precious and wonderful sister Willow for quite a few months. It’s been hard at times to adjust and learn how to live this life, the one my instincts told me one day would be mine if only I could hang on, and survive the horror of the puppy farm a bit longer, and a bit longer till the fateful day of my rescue arrived.
Willow’s helped me to know what humans are really like. They’re truly kind. Not at all like the Man. I was wary of Tom at first, his deep male voice rattled in my head, stirring memories of the barn and the Man. I think I made him work hard at gaining my trust; not that I meant to, I just couldn’t help myself cowering away if he came near to me. But, he is kind and patient and in those early, difficult days seemed to understand that I was doing my best. My struggles to cope with all the new sounds and smells, people and places, didn’t faze Tom at all, he is a good man.
Patsy has been marvellous. She really has understood most of my needs and allowed me to take all the time I’ve needed to learn everything I have. Willow’s curiosity about my past is strong and I’ve given her a few snippets of detail when she’s pressed me to tell her. But really I haven’t wanted to upset her with my bad memories which will haunt her innocent mind. She’s often pressed me to tell her something about my puppies, so, after much reluctance, for fear of upsetting her sweet innocence, one day I gave in and told her of the first time they were taken from me.
It was a cold day, freezing in the barn, and it haunts me all these years on. I’d just finished feeding them, all six tiny pups of mine were scrambling about, playing together as best they could in the empty concrete pen which was our home. I was young then, I’d
not long grown out of my own puppyhood and I had more energy and milk than with my later litters. I fed my babies well and they were growing bigger every day.
Then, suddenly the Man entered the pen, dropping a plastic box down hard on the ground, startling me and my puppies. Before we knew what was happening, he grabbed the closest one by her back leg taking her by surprise. She was always first to push in for a feed from me and was the plumpest one of my babies. I helplessly watched her soft tiny body, wriggling in his hands, saw him squeeze her tightly to keep her still while snarling nasty words at her, as she frantically tried to get free from his big, cruel fists. He roughly dropped her into the box, slamming down the lid to stop her escaping. My mind reeled as I struggled to understand what was happening, then he made a grab for her little brother, who had jumped behind me to hide. A sharp pain shot through my ribs, as the Man pushed me aside with his dirty black boot, grabbing my boy’s tail, lifting him up swiftly and putting him in the box with his sister. As I gasped for breath through the searing pain, all the while I could hear her inside the box, squealing with fright, and I knew I couldn’t help her. After a few minutes, he’d caught all my puppies, opened the steel gate and slammed it shut again, as he disappeared with the box full of my crying babies. I was left alone in the pen, shaking with shock and pain, their squealing cries ringing in my ears.
I worried for days and days about them, hoping he’d bring them back to me. I missed them terribly. I ached with misery at their hasty, brutal disappearance. Then, after about a week I had no choice but to accept they weren’t coming back and that they were gone forever.
As I told Willow this tale, her face full of sorrow, I wished I hadn’t given her the harsh truth of my life. I instantly regretted sharing my sadness. But, as is always the case with my jolly, confident sister, after a few moments of sad thoughts, and a comforting snuggle with me, she was up and bouncing around looking for a toy to start a game with. That’s the wonder of Willow, nothing keeps her down for long. She’s always lively, determined each day to enjoy herself. She knows this is what her life is all about, and is great at sharing her enthusiasm with me. I’ve learned so many things about being a normal, happy dog since living with her.
There’s so much simple joy in Willow’s world which is now my world too, it’s truly ours to share: daily walks with Patsy and Tom, friends and games in Kettlecroft Park, ample good food, trips to the beach, toys to chew and chuck about, and when all that’s done, we retreat into the peace and quiet comfort of our bed. I’m absorbing every one of these treasured moments at Willow’s side, and I bask in her glow of happiness, allowing myself to forget the darkness of my past. With her help, I’m learning that trusting Patsy is a good idea, as she’ll always look out for us and keep us both safe and happy. Seeing how Willow cuddles up with her, so naturally and with such pleasure, I’m slowly being tempted to follow my sister’s example and do the same. Only, I can’t quite let myself, not yet. But I know I will. And one day, one day very soon, I’ll know I’m a deep-down, thoroughly healed, rescued dog, ready to make the most of my happy life full of exciting adventures with my sister Willow.
Dear reader,
This book is based on the lives of real dogs who were rescued from awful situations but who eventually got to live happily in their new homes. If you’d like to have a dog in your life - and this ought to be something the whole family agrees on - please first look into adopting one from a good rescue. It may take a little bit of time and patience, but that’s good, how it should be as bringing dogs into our lives is something we should think long and hard about. If you do buy a puppy, don’t rush into it and do research it well; when you find a good breeder, check mum and puppies are all well cared for, happy and healthy and mum is with her puppies when you visit. Never buy a puppy from a petshop, or have one delivered to you.
Thank you for reading and caring,
Janetta
Acknowledgements
This book has been made possible by the support of many people, our friends and families, including Renae, Twinkle, Cerise, Susie-Belle, Alfie and Reeva. And a tremendous thank you to all the generous individuals who backed our Kickstarter campaign and trusted us. We sincerely thank each of you and hope you know that you will have helped to save dogs in no small way, as this book reaches young readers for years to come.
Special thanks to:
Bee O’Wulf; Sylvia Buxcey; Heather Godwin; Claire Farrington; Graeme Goode; Joelle Hoggan; Mike Jackson; Melinda Carroll; Caroline Mace; Elizabeth Bolt; Joanna Taylor; Pamela and Keith Knight; Dawn Wharrad; Kim E. Barrett; Charlotte Mackaness; Jan Tomalin; Siobhan Wing; Karen Doonan; Celeste Barrett; Maureen Jacques; Carol Sykes; Amanda Jones; Amanda Pearce; Gemma Ridley; Rhian White; Camilla Kinton; Rachel Williams; Janet North; Schnauzer Forum UK; Colleen, Will, Owen and Haatchi.
Finally, for lending us their superb skills and being patient when we were giving in to giggles, Tamara Panchen and Charley Surrage.
If you like the idea of sharing your life with a dog, it’s a big decision to make. To help you be sure that it’s the right thing for you and most importantly for the dog, here are some questions to ask yourself:
Why do you want to share your life with a dog?
When we bring a dog into our life we’re making a commitment to look after them for their whole lifetime, which could be many years. They’re completely reliant on us to take care of them for all that time. It’s never like having a new toy, or game, something that can be forgotten about when the novelty fades. A dog is a special friend who we must promise to care for and love for years and years. Even when they’re old, in fact it’s never more important than when they become our elderly friends to love them and do everything for them that they need us to. And if we do so, in all the years we have together, we’ll share much happiness and fun. But we must be serious about the commitment involved.
Are you ready to do all the jobs a dog will need you to do?
It’s a good idea to make a list of what you think a dog will need you to do. I’ll start you off: feeding is important, and so are daily walks, even if it’s raining, or you don’t really feel like going out. What will happen for holidays? Will you share the tasks with someone else? If so, what happens if they don’t feel like doing it one day? A dog never likes to be left alone for hours on end, how will you be sure this won’t happen? Remember Charlie and how his life wasn’t always happy because his first families didn’t give him the time and attention he needed? Can you be certain you’ll always be there for your dog and never, ever let him down?
Do you know that someone will pay for everything your dog might need?
Remember when Maya was sick and had to visit the vet? This kind of thing can happen to any dog and can be costly. Or the puppy Beebee, who was bought and fell ill soon afterwards? We need to be certain we can afford to pay unexpected bills for our dogs throughout their lifetime, remember they rely on us completely.
Are you sure you can have a dog where you live?
Not all places allow dogs. What happens if you move? Are you certain your dog will always go with you, and that you’ll never move somewhere that a dog isn’t allowed?
Even if we can’t share our lives with dogs, there are many ways to enjoy being with them and helping those in need. Visiting your local rescue shelter will give you ideas for what you can do to help. They always rely on fundraising and volunteers to make the lives of animals in their care the best they can be.
To find out more about buying and adopting dogs, helping those like Maya, and what we can all do to make the lives of dogs better, I’d love you to visit my website where you’ll also find a special page for young readers:
www.janettaharvey.com
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