Sometimes life throws up stories that make you think – it can’t really be like that. But it really is.
A dog appears in the courtyard of a nine-storey block on High Street. Big, ginger with black patches. One ear torn, a back leg dragging.
People are scared straight away. Of course – a huge dog, and injured at that. Injured animals, as everyone knows, are the most dangerous. That’s what the residents think.
“We need to call the council,” says Auntie Pat from the ground floor, adjusting her glasses. “Or it’ll bite someone.”
“Right,” chimes in Uncle Bob from the fourth floor. “There are kids all over the yard.”
And everyone starts giving the dog a wide berth. As if she isn’t lying quietly by the entrance, but growling and lunging. But she just lies there. And shivers. Even in the October sunshine, she shivers.
Alice notices the dog on the first day. The girl tends to notice things adults walk past without seeing. Maybe because she often feels invisible herself. After Dad died, the world somehow turned different. Grey, maybe.
“Mum, what’s wrong with that dog?” she asks as she and her mother come back from the shop.
“What dog?” Irene doesn’t even look towards the entrance.
“That one. Does her paw hurt?”
Mum finally sees. And immediately takes her daughter’s hand tighter.
“Don’t go near her, Alice. She might be sick. Or mean.”
“But she isn’t mean,” the girl says quietly. “She’s sad.”
Adults never seem to tell the difference between sad and mean. Especially with animals. Alice noticed that long ago.
Days pass. The dog doesn’t bother anyone. She lies by the wall, sometimes tries to stand – limps to the bins, looks for something. Finds nothing, comes back. And lies down again.
But the residents keep talking.
“Cold weather’s coming, and she’s still here.”
“Yesterday kids ran past and she lifted her head. They got scared.”
“Never mind the head – she’s enormous!”
Alice watches from the window every day. Third floor – she can see everything.
“Mum, why doesn’t anyone help her?”
“Because it’s not our business, sweetheart.”
But Alice thinks problems are when you don’t have money for new boots or when your tooth hurts. This is just someone dying in front of everyone. And everyone pretends not to see.
Saturday morning she wakes up early. Looks out – the dog is lying there, but strangely. On her side. Not moving at all.
“Mum!” Alice runs to the kitchen. “The dog, she’s…”
“What about her?”
“I think she’s really bad.”
Irene comes to the window. Looks. Yes – something is wrong.
“Probably sick,” Mum sighs. “Poor thing.”
“Then let’s help her!”
“Alice, we can’t.”
“Why can’t we?”
Why? Irene doesn’t know either. You just can’t – that’s it. They have enough worries of their own.
But at lunch the dog tries to get up. And falls. Just falls sideways. Stays lying there. Only breathing heavily – her sides heaving.
Alice sees it.
She puts on her jacket. Takes a sausage from the fridge. Mum is in the shower.
In the yard the dog lies with closed eyes. Up close she looks even bigger. And not scary at all. Just tired to death.
“Hello,” Alice says softly. “How are you?”
The dog opens her eyes. Looks at the girl. And in that look there is so much surprise – as if she thought people had forgotten how to talk to animals.
“I brought some sausage. Do you want some?”
Alice holds out her hand with the food. The dog sniffs it but doesn’t eat. Only licks the girl’s fingers. The tongue is hot.
“You’re sick, aren’t you?” Alice strokes the ginger head carefully. “Everyone is scared of you. They think you’re mean. But you aren’t.”
And then the dog does something amazing. She puts her head on Alice’s lap. A heavy, big head. And closes her eyes.
“Alice! Alice, get away right now!”
Mum is running across the yard, waving her arms. Hair wet, dressing gown open – she must have jumped straight out of the shower.
“Are you crazy? She could bite you!”
“Mum, she doesn’t bite. Look – she’s sick.”
Irene stops three steps away. She watches her daughter sitting beside a huge dog, stroking its head. And the dog lies perfectly still.
“Mum, remember how you told me about Dad? That when he was little he brought every stray cat home?”
Irene remembers. Grandpa told her – Steve was like that. Soft-hearted beyond belief.
“And you said that the worst thing is to walk past someone else’s pain.”
When did she say that? Ah, yes. After the funeral. When Alice asked why Dad went to the hospital to read books to old men he didn’t know.
“Mum, let’s not walk past this?”
Irene looks at her daughter. And suddenly she sees Steve in her. That same boy who brought cats home. Who could never walk past trouble.
“Stand up slowly,” she says. “Carefully.”
But the dog seems to understand. She lifts her head herself, freeing the girl. Looks at Irene with a gaze… as if saying, “I won’t hurt her. I promise.”
“She isn’t eating,” Alice says. “She must be really ill.”
Irene steps closer. Squats down beside her. The dog doesn’t growl, doesn’t bare its teeth. Just watches. With clever, sad eyes.
“Is your paw hurting?” Irene asks, and surprises herself by talking to the dog like a child.
The dog seems to nod.
“Alright,” Mum sighs. “Let’s go make a call.”
Dr. Parker arrives in half an hour.
“A fracture. Old, badly healed. But fixable,” he says, examining the leg. “She’s a pedigree. A German Shepherd. Must have got lost.”
“What will happen to her?” Alice asks.
“Well, if nobody claims her…”
“We’ll take her.”
Irene looks at her daughter. At the dog. At the red scarf tied around the paw.
When did her little girl become so grown-up?
A month later.
Bella (that’s what Alice calls her) sleeps on the rug beside her bed. The leg has healed. Her coat shines.
“Mum,” Alice says before sleep. “Why was everyone scared of her? She’s kind.”
Irene strokes her daughter’s hair.
“You know. Sometimes people are afraid to be kind. What if they don’t understand? What if they judge?”
“That’s stupid.”
“Yes. Stupid.”
After lunch Irene stands and looks out the window.
Down in the yard Alice is playing with Bella. The dog gently, carefully tugs at the girl. And Alice laughs.
That day her daughter taught her not to be afraid.
Not to be afraid of kindness.
Not to be afraid to reach out to someone in need.
And in the yard, laughter rings out.
And the bark of a big, kind dog who finally found a home.
