One Man and his Dog

It's the first Tuesday of the month so here's another story for you. It's dedicated to all those of you who have lost a four-legged friend.

The old man walked slowly up the hill. He was used to his legs not moving as fast as he wanted them to but, today, they seemed even heavier than usual. Not surprising, really, he thought, since today he had killed his best friend. Jack. How was he going to live without Jack?

He had known that this day was coming. He’d had Jack since just before his wife, Molly, had taken ill. Three years she’d lasted before she’d passed on. ‘Passed on’. That was the euphemism they’d all used. This morning, the vet had used similar words. It was time to put Jack to sleep. The old man knew he couldn’t argue with that. Jack was in pain. He’d stopped eating a couple of days back and had spent his time sleeping, wincing now and then. When the old man approached, his little tail would wag weakly as if to say: I know you’re there. I love you. I wish we could go walkies but I just can’t seem to get up right now… maybe later.

So, the decision was made and Jack was now sleeping the eternal sleep. So what do I do now? The old man couldn’t think beyond getting home. He put one foot in front of the other, again and again. Finally, he was at his own front door. He hesitated before opening it, not knowing how he’d cope with the silence. After Molly had died, Jack’s presence had been a comfort. His wagging tail always ready to welcome the old man home, his barking breaking the oppressive silence of the house that husband and wife had shared for almost fifty years.

He opened the door, almost staggering as the silence hit him. It took a few moments to summon the courage to enter. All he could do was stumble to his chair. He lost track of how many hours he sat there, head in hands, sobbing, until sleep had overtaken him.

Ding Dong.

The doorbell interrupted his dreams, happy dreams of long walks with Jack. Even his wife had made a brief appearance. The old man begrudgingly shook himself fully awake.

Ding Dong.

Slowly he shuffled towards the front door and opened it. On the threshold was a man he thought he recognised.

‘Mr O’Shea, it’s me. Tony, the vet… you know, from this morning?’

The young man stood awkwardly at the door, not sure of his welcome. His own heart had broken earlier that day when he’d had to ‘do the deed’. Putting animals to sleep was the worst part of the job, made even more horrid when the animal was clearly so loved and so needed.

‘Yes, of course, I remember you.’

The words seemed almost an accusation to Tony. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he shouldn’t stay. The decision, however, was taken out of his hands as the bundle he’d been carrying stirred.

‘What’s that you’ve got there, young man?’ The old man’s curiosity was piqued as he spied a snout appearing from the folds of a rug.

‘Well, Mr O’Shea. I know this is a bit of a cheek but I was wondering if you’d be able to help us out.’

‘Go on’. Mr O’Shea’s eyes hadn’t moved as he stared intensely at the wriggling bundle.

“Well. This little girl was brought in just an hour after you left. She’s healthy but in need of a bit of TLC. She’s about 5 years old so not a puppy anymore which means she’ll be harder to place. But I thought that maybe you’d give her a home, at least temporarily. What do you think, Mr O’Shea?’

At that, the squirming bundle squirmed even more and the rug was thrown back, revealing a little Jack Russell, all legs and tail and excitement. She leapt from the vet straight into the old man’s arms and proceeded to lick his face with uncontained joy.

Tony waited, holding his breath, crossing fingers and toes. He knew it was a bit too soon, the pain still a bit too raw but, when this little girl had arrived, he’d felt it was meant, predestined, that the universe had had a hand in it, for she was the very image of poor old Jack, white with brown spots, ears that pricked at every sound, a happy nature. Hoping Mr O’Shea would think so too, Tony waited.

The old man paused. He looked at the little dog in his arms and, then, at the vet. He didn’t think he could replace Jack. Not yet. Not ever, really. But the loneliness was so hard. Maybe he could keep this bundle of joy, just for a few days?

‘Does she have a name, young man?’

‘She does. Or, at least we’ve been calling her Molly…’

‘Molly, you say?’ The old man smiled. The coincidence was interesting, just like his wife to interfere. Taking a deep breath, he silently nodded to the powers-that-be before placing the little dog gently down before speaking again, this time directly to his new four-legged friend.

‘Well, Molly, what do you say to having a bit of dinner?

Molly didn’t need to be asked twice. Dog and owner turned as one and went into the house together, leaving Tony, the vet, with the broadest grin on his face. A bad day had turned around and he walked down the hill with a spring in his step, convinced that, without a doubt, Molly had found her forever home.