The Loyal Hound: A Tale of Canine Companionship

I came home and slipped the key into the lock, but I didnt shout the usual Mum, Im back! as I stepped over the threshold. Veronica stared at me, puzzled that I hadnt taken off my boots, that my coat didnt rustle against the floor, that I wasnt fidgeting or sighing.

Tim, is that you? Ive bought the herring, the potatoes are almost done, well be having dinner soon, she called from the kitchen.

Silence.

Tim? she said again.

She grabbed a kitchen towel, wiped her damp hands, and walked into the hallway. At first glance she saw something was wrong. I stood there, shoulders slumped, a stranger to myself. When I looked up at her, the pain in my eyes made her heart skip a beat. She clutched my collar and examined me closely.

Did you get into a fight? Were you beaten? she demanded.

Mmum Mum there I choked, fighting back tears.

Speak up, dont be scared!

Its a dog in the bin shaft. Shes hurt. It isnt an ordinary bin, its like a hole under the block. I tried to help her, but she snarled. She cant get up, Mum, and its freezing out there. The rubbish is piled on her.

Veronica let out a breath, relieved that I was otherwise alright.

Where is she? Near our building?

No, on the other street, on the way to school. Can we go? She needs help!

Did you ask any adults?

I did. No one wanted to. Everyone just shrugged, I whispered, eyes downcast.

Listen, Tim. Its getting dark. Take off your coat. Maybe the dog is just tired and has taken a rest, she suggested.

It cant stand, I protested.

Maybe you imagined it in the gloom. Lets wait until morning. If shes still there, well think of somethingcall the fire service or the police. Okay? Your hands are freezing, get undressed quickly.

Reluctantly I unbuttoned my coat.

Mum, what if she freezes to death before sunrise?

Its a dog, Tim. Im pretty sure shes a stray, used to the streets. Shes got a thick coat. Shell be fine, she reassured.

With a mix of doubt and determination I stripped down and headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. I held my icy palms under the hot tap, but the image of that frightened, desperate animal stuck in the dark shaft kept replaying in my mind. The dog was a scruffy, mixedbreed with reddish patches on her cheeks. How long had she been lying there? Why couldnt she get up? The memory made my stomach churn.

That evening, after wed all packed our backpacks, a friend and I set off for a walk. The weather was unusually mild for Manchester, yet a bite of frost lingered and the snow refused to melt. We didnt want to go straight home, so we sledded down a hill and pretended to be snowboarders. Something nudged us off the pavement onto a narrow, tramworn path beside the block. Thats when I saw two glinting eyes peering from the waste chute. At first I thought it was a cat.

We crouched and leaned closer a dog.

Hold my legs, Ill try to pull her out! I shouted.

I lay down at the mouth of the chute and reached down, but the dog growled at me.

Forget it, lets go home. Shes sleeping there, my friend said.

Puppy, puppy! Come to me! Toottoot, toottoot! I called, but she stayed motionless. Come, Ill help you! I kept urging, while she whined feebly.

I switched on the flashlight on my phone and shone it into the shaft. The dog was covered in shallow bite marks, and a large wound scarred her hind leg. I couldnt just leave such a creature in trouble.

For the next halfhour I begged passing men to help, tears breaking free. Young lads, older blokes, pensionersall brushed me off. Even my friend walked away, saying he was hungry and had to get home. Their replies were all the same:

Whats it to you? Leave it, itll get out when it wants.

The next morning I woke far earlier than usual and found my mother already in her coat, ready for work at the nursery by seven.

Check it, Tim. Im sure hes gone by now. Youre just restless, havent slept, worrying too much, she said.

I sighed, gathered my resolve, and headed out. In the stairwell I glanced at the corner under the stairsa spot where, a year ago, Id found four kittens in a box. My mother and I had treated them for fleas, fed them, and found them loving homes. No abandoned animal ever left my heart untouched. At home we have two cats and a dog; the first cat we rescued from a doorstep, the rest we pulled from the streets. Once, in summer, I found a dead pigeon and buried it beneath a park tree.

If I saw an elderly lady struggling with a grocery bag, I was the first to help. If a senior citizen was trying to cross a busy road, Id be there. I never turned away, never relied on strangers kindness. I even stopped men slumped on benches to ask if they were ill or just drunk, because sometimes those who seem fine might be in trouble.

That morning I raced to the waste chute, hoping the dog had slipped away or managed to get up. She was still there, shivering. My heart ached. Mum, Im crying, the dogs still in that pit, I sobbed into the phone.

Ill send you a video, look. We have to do something. We cant just leave her, Mom replied.

The first thing Veronica thought of was calling the fire service. She promised to sort it out and told me to get to school, that there was nothing else I could do.

The fire service said they didnt handle such cases and suggested I contact the councils wastemanagement team. That call went nowhere as well. At every break I dialed again, asking for any update.

Hey, Nat, I dont know what to do, Veronica said around lunchtime, ringing a friend. Tim found a dog, shes

Her friend suggested calling an animal shelter. She found the contact for Ellens Haven and the volunteers rushed to the address. Id slipped out of my last lesson just to be there, hoping at least one passerby would show compassion and rescue the dog.

Theyre here! I cheered when the volunteers arrived.

A young woman lowered a blanket into the shaft, the other volunteers holding her legs. The dog whimpered, unable to bark. Lifting her out was hardshe was frozen to the metal grate from urinating in the cold.

Poor thing, look at you, all skinny, just bones, a volunteer murmured while gently patting her head. They wrapped her in the blanket and set her on the ground to warm up. I paced back and forth, my mind whirring with questions about what would happen next.

Look at her, Tim. You saved her, one volunteer said. What now? Shes wounded, maybe other dogs attacked her.

Well take her to a clinic, get her treated, another replied.

The injuries were severe; the leg wound was deep and she was chilled to the bone. After a while, the shelter transferred her to a veterinary centre. My mum and I agreed to foster her temporarily, even though we only had one spare room. The story of my rescue made it into the local paper, and journalists wanted interviews, but I never saw myself as a hero.

Its just what a decent person does, I told them. Theres nothing heroic about it. People have grown so indifferent that even a small act of kindness feels extraordinary. It makes me sad. I did something ordinary, and it turned out to be something noble. Can you imagine how cruel our world has become?

When asked what change Id like to see, I said, I want people to be kinder.

The reporter asked what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Id like to be a canine handler, work with dogs, volunteer wherever I can. Im still small, but I want to help both animals and peopleespecially lonely seniors. It hurts to see them all alone.

Hows Jack doing? You named the dog Jack, right?

Yes, we kept him. Hes my dog now. Jack! Come here, lad! Lets show Uncle the tricks weve learned. He barked happily and trotted over.

Sit, Jack! Lie down! Crawl, my good boy well done! I praised him.

Im a boy with a wounded heart. A wounded heart never rests. As long as theres suffering, cruelty, and neglect in the world, there will be creatures in need of a helping hand, and only a few will step forward. Until more people like me, with our own scars, rise up, kindness will stay a rare treasure. I hope one day many hearts will bear those wounds, that well all walk a little hurt, and that compassion will finally rule the earth. Until then, I send a big hug to all of you, dear readers. I hold you close and love you dearly.

Timothy Clarke from Manchester and his dog Jack.