The Dog

The boy turned the key and slipped inside the flat. He didnt call out the usual, Mum, Im home! Evelyn frowned at his silence, at the lack of clacking boots on the floor, at the absent rustle of his winter coat. He stood still, breath shallow, eyes distant

Timmy, is that you? Ive bought the herring, the potatoes are in the oven, dinner will be ready soon.

Silence.

Timmy?

Evelyn grabbed a kitchen towel to dry her damp hands and hurried to the hallway. From the first glance she knew something was wrong. Her son stood slumped, his shoulders drooping, his gaze pleading. She seized his collar, leaned in, and asked, her voice trembling.

Did you get into a fight? Were you beaten?

Mmum Mum There

He fought back tears, his face crumpling.

Speak, love, dont be afraid!

Mum, theres a dog in the binhole. Its hurt. The binhole isnt a normal one; its a gap under the building. I tried to help, but it snarled. It cant get up, Mum, and its freezing out there. The rubbish is piled on top of it.

Evelyn exhaled, relieved that Timmy himself was alright.

Where is it? Near our flat?

No, on the other side of the road, on the way to school. Can we go? It needs help!

Did anyone else see it?

I asked. Nobody wanted to. Everyone just brushed me off, Timmy muttered, eyes downcast.

Listen, Timmy. Its late and dark. Take off your coat, lets see if the dog is just tired and resting.

It cant stand.

Youre seeing things in the gloom. Lets wait till morning. If its still there, well call the fire brigade or the police. Deal? Hurry, get undressed, your hands are freezing.

Timmy reluctantly unzipped his coat.

Mum, what if it freezes to death before morning?

Its a dog, love. Im sure its a stray, used to the streets, its coat will keep it warm. Nothing will happen to it.

Torn by doubt, Timmy stripped down and shuffled to the bathroom, running his chilled palms under hot water while his mind replayed the animals terrified, desperate stare from that dark underfloor shaft. He remembered the dog was a scruffy, mixedbreed with reddish patches on its cheeks. How long had it lain there? Why couldnt it rise? The memory churned his stomach, making him feel sick.

That evening, after theyd each tossed their school bags in the hallway, Timmy and his friend headed out for a walk. It was unseasonably warm for Manchester, yet a bite of frost lingered and the snow wouldnt melt. They lingered, sledding down a small hill on makeshift sleds, pretending to be snowboarders. Something pulled them off the pavement and down a narrow, trampled path beside the houses. What drove Timmy to pause and stare into the rubbish chutes black mouth? At first he thought it was a cat. He and his friend crept closer and leaned in a dog.

Hold my legs, Ill try to pull it out! Timmy shouted, spreading himself at the chutes edge. He reached down, but the animal snarled.

Forget it, lets go home. Its sleeping, his friend muttered.

Come here, boy! Come on, come on! Timmy coaxed, but the dog stayed still. He shone his phones torch into the darkness. The animal was pitted with bite marks; a large wound gaped on its hind leg. He could notwould notleave such a creature in distress.

For the next half hour, the elevenyearold implored passing men to help the dog, his voice cracking, tears welling. Young lads, middleaged men, pensionersall brushed him off. Even his friend abandoned him, hungry and rushing home. Strangers sneered, Why bother? Let it sort itself out.

At dawn Timmy leapt out of bed before his mother, who worked at a local nursery and had to be at work by seven. Check it, love, she said, Im sure hes gotten away by now. Youre just worried.”

Timmy inhaled deeply, gathered his resolve, and bolted for the chute. He recalled a year earlier finding four kittens in a box under the stairs, nursing them back to health and finding forever homes. Their house already hosted two cats and a dog; the first cat had been rescued from a car boot, the rest were taken in from the streets. In summer hed buried a dead pigeon beneath a park tree, and he never ignored an elderly neighbour struggling with groceries. Hed always stopped to help, never waiting for kindness from strangers.

The morning air bit his cheeks as he raced to the binhole. Hope throbbedperhaps the dog had escaped. But the animal lay still, its breath shallow, the wound still bleeding. His heart ached.

Mum, Ill send you a video, he choked out, we have to do something. We cant just leave it.

Evelyns first thought was to ring the fire brigade. She promised to call and sort it out, telling Timmy to head to school. The brigade replied they didnt handle such cases and suggested contacting the councils waste management team. No answer came. Timmy kept calling every break, pleading.

Hello, Nat, Evelyn sighed at lunchtime, I dont know what to do. She dialed a friend, who suggested the local animal rescue. The rescue centre ElmHouse sent volunteers straight to the address. Timmy had slipped out of his last lesson, waiting by the chute, his voice trembling with hope.

Theyre here! he cried when the volunteers arrived. A young woman lowered a blanket into the hole, the others steadied her. The dog whimpered, unable to bark. It was stuck to the iron frame, frozen from urinating in the cold.

Poor thing, a volunteer brushed its head, so thin, just bones. They wrapped the animal in the blanket and set it gently on the ground. Timmy paced, his mind racingwhat now? The volunteers explained the leg wound was severe and the dog would need a vet.

The dog was eventually taken to a clinic, then to the rescue centre. Timmy and Evelyn agreed to foster it. Evelyn worried about adding another pet to a twoperson household, but the rescue staff assured them it would be fine.

The newspapers ran the story of Timmys bravery. Reporters asked, What drove you?

Its just what anyone with a conscience would do, Timmy replied. People have become so indifferent that even tiny acts of kindness feel extraordinary. Its sad how cruel the world can be.

What would you change? the journalist pressed.

Id like people to be kinder.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I want to work with dogsbe a dog trainer, volunteer at rescues. I want to help the elderly too; Im sorry for lonely old people. Id like to be a friend to them.

Hows Jack now?

We kept him. Hes ours now. Come here, Jack! Lets show Uncle what tricks weve learned.

Jack bounded to his side, tail wagging. Sit, Jack! Lie down! Crawl, my good boy Youve been brilliant!

Timmys heart, once wounded, now beat with purpose. As long as suffering exists, as long as cruelty lingers, there will be souls like Timmywounded hearts that never settle. He dreams of a day when every wounded heart finds healing, when kindness reigns, when we all walk together, loved and never abandoned. Until then, he sends his warmest embrace to all, holding them close in his thoughts.

The photograph shows Timothy Clarke from Manchester with his dog Jack.