Читать книгу Animal Kind - Emma Lock - Страница 10
ОглавлениеA sharp crack followed by a dull thud woke Heather from her sleep. Deep from within the many cozy layers of blankets hugging the bed came a startled, almost cough-like “woof.”
Heather squinted through the darkness at her motionless bedroom and shimmied herself into a sitting position in bed, her heart still beating hard from being awoken suddenly. She stretched her arm out into the chilly air, reached for the switch on her bedside table, and clicked on the light. The room immediately illuminated with a soft, warm yellow glow.
Looking left and right, Heather scanned her bedroom. Her chair was still piled high with the laundry she had been meaning to put away. Her bookshelf was a shabby-chic assortment of books, eclectic ornaments, and picture frames. Nothing was out of place or showed any sign of disturbance.
She reached for her phone and squinted as its harsh white light assaulted her tired eyes. It was only 4:45 a.m.
Under her duvet, a small, pillow-sized lump began to wriggle its way up her legs, hips, and stomach. Heather glanced down as her blankets rose up like a small hill and fell back to reveal the inquisitive face of her Staffordshire Bull Terrier, Zak.
For a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, or “Staffie,” as they’re affectionately referred to by dog lovers, Zak was dainty for his breed. His short, wiry coat, once a rich fawn colour, was now heavily flecked with white and grey. Over the past thirteen years, age had slowly crept up on Zak. What had started out as just a few white whiskers on his chin and muzzle had multiplied, migrating upwards and steadily turning his entire face white. The years had also added silky white socks to his paws, which perfectly matched his distinguished face.
“Hi, boy,” whispered Heather as she gave Zak a quick scratch under his chin. He narrowed his eyes in quiet enjoyment.
Still curious about the sound which woke her, Heather swung her legs out of bed and hastily tucked her feet into the fluffy pink novelty slippers her mother had given her for Christmas a few weeks earlier. Zak hopped onto the floor and shook his little body, the clinking of his collar and tags filling the room with familiar sound.
Heather stood up and tensed slightly as the chilly air brushed against her body, sending an uncomfortable shiver down her back. She reached toward her chair and peeled her freshly washed house robe from the pile, quickly wrapping its plush fabric around her body and fastening it tightly.
Heather shuffled to the window by her bed, pulled back the dark, heavy curtains, and peered out into the night. What had been a light peppering of powdery snow when she had gone to sleep was now a luxurious blanket of snow and ice covering the rolling Scottish hills which her home was nestled in. Heather noticed that an old branch had broken away from the rowan tree right outside her bedroom window and was now on the ground, disappearing quickly under the cotton ball-sized snowflakes falling from the sky.
Satisfied that she had found the source of the noise, she glanced down to her side at Zak. He was standing as high up on his hind legs as possible, his front paws resting on the windowsill. His huge black nose was pressed against the window, and his warm exhalations were fogging up the glass as he looked out excitedly at the monochrome landscape.
Although time had noticeably changed Zak over the years, his playful energy had never waned, and he still moved with the ease and speed of a much younger dog.
“Forget about it,” said Heather playfully as she drew the curtains shut once again and gestured for Zak to get down. “We’d both catch our deaths.”
Zak gave a defiant snort and trotted over to the bedroom door. He sniffed at the small crack under the door and purposefully sat down, appealing to Heather with his large, brown eyes.
“Great,” thought Heather, wishing to go back to bed. She glanced at her phone one more time, sighed, and walked over to her bedroom door, cracking it slightly to allow Zak through first.
Heather yawned and wiggled her toes to keep them warm as she filled the kettle with water and set it on its base to boil. Zak busied himself with his routine of sniffing the kitchen floor for any crumbs or delicious morsels of food which may have evaded the dustpan and brush. He pawed under the oven and pulled from beneath it a forgotten pig’s ear chew. Heather chuckled to herself as Zak proudly strutted to the living room with his dust-covered prize. He jumped up onto the sofa and circled twice before he plopped his body down and began inspecting his chew.
Heather sprinkled some chai leaves into her favourite green teapot and slowly added the boiling water, enjoying how the tea leaves swirled and began to change the colour of the water. Glancing up at the window above the sink, she could see that the snow was still falling heavily. Her thoughts turned to her day ahead, and she considered which route would be the best for her to drive to work.
She poured some of the chai tea into a mug and took a long, warming sip.
Having lost interest in his chew, which was now on the floor, Zak had instead turned his attention to chasing his tail, his soft, round mouth reaching back over his body to capture the most elusive of his limbs. Heather watched as her senior dog trampled her sofa cushions and caught a glimpse of his aged and discoloured teeth—teeth which she had been so afraid of as a child.
Heather crossed the kitchen into the living room and settled onto the plush sofa next to Zak. He was now clumsily slumped over on his side, mouthing one of his back feet, having given up on his tail.
“Come here, you marshmallow!” sighed Heather, patting her free hand on her thigh.
Zak heaved his compact body up and plonked himself against her lap. He rested his heavy head on her knee and let out a long exhalation—the kind some might think of as a sign of boredom, but in reality was blissful contentment. Heather stroked his silky triangular ears and raised her teacup to her mouth as her eyes shifted focus to a picture frame perched on the windowsill. It was an old, cherished photo which showed her mother, father, brother, and herself as a young girl. Her gaze rested on the cheeky grin of her father’s face. She missed him every day, but the holidays were always especially difficult. She closed her eyes and tried her best to remember the sound of his voice and his infectious laughter.
As a child, Heather had mostly lived under the firm but fair rule of her mother, Joan, a capable, no-nonsense kind of woman who, with a single raised eyebrow or lash of her sharp tongue, could make the toughest Scotsman cower in fear. Although she was a formidable woman, she was always a tender and nurturing mother to her two children and expertly handled all of her roles as the primary carer, breadwinner, and disciplinarian in their small family home. Heather’s father, Steve, was a kind and lively man. Beloved by many, he was always the life and soul of a party. Despite the deep age lines etched on his face, it wasn’t hard to see that, in his youth, Steve would have made all of the women in town weak at the knees.
Although Steve was as warm and loving as a father could be, his body had begun to suffer irrevocably from the effects of liver disease, and both he and Joan had decided that it would be kindest to their children if he were to move back into his mother’s home, which was only a short distance away.
Despite living away from their father during the week, neither Heather nor her younger brother Thomas noticed that their family was any different from anyone else’s. On the weekends, their mother would dress them in their best sweaters, and together the three of them would walk the short distance to their grandmother’s house to visit their father. He would always swing open the front door enthusiastically, and welcome Heather and her brother with huge bear hugs and lots of kisses. They’d enjoy their time together, kicking footballs around the garden and playing games of hide-and-seek. Their grandmother would cook the most delicious roast dinners with Yorkshire puddings, and after supper they’d each pick out a sweet treat and cuddle up on the sofa to watch a Disney film.
This familiar, comforting routine would faithfully repeat itself every week, come rain, shine, or snow, but as the seasons passed and Heather grew to become more curious and aware of the world around her, she began to notice a change in her father.
During their weekend visits, their grandmother would often become the smiling face to greet them at the door when they arrived. Their father wouldn’t want to play outdoors as much, and some weeks, Heather would notice that he would wear the same clothes, or wouldn’t have shaved his face, making him appear frighteningly aged. His jokes and laughter became distant memories, lost in happier times, and, increasingly, Heather would be encouraged by her mother to have weekend sleepovers with her friends, or to spend more time with other family members.
One Saturday morning, Joan sat down with Heather and Thomas and softly explained to them that their father had been feeling extremely low which was why they hadn’t been able to see as much of him lately. Heather nodded dutifully as her mother expressed how she felt he might benefit from having some more constant company such as a dog or cat. That very afternoon, Heather, along with her mother and brother, drove the short distance to the local dog rescue to find a suitable pet for their father.
The dog viewing room was frighteningly loud and filled with dogs of all shapes, colours, and sizes. Some of adoptable dogs had extensive notes and background information attached to the clipboards which hung on the outside of their pens. Others simply had pieces of paper with the words “Adopted,” or “Undergoing Evaluation” scribbled on.
Heather felt a pang of sorrow as she passed a pen containing a huge, emaciated-looking German Shepherd, and another pen containing an assortment of Jack Russell terriers, Chihuahua mixes, and a small, tear-stained Shih Tzu with a snaggle tooth.
“Aww! This one is so cute and looks so sad, Mummy,” whined Heather as she crouched down and extended her small fingers through the bars of the pen. Immediately, the tiny Shih Tzu let out an ear-splitting shriek and bolted toward the back of the pen. It hid beneath one of the elevated dog beds where it continued to yowl, sending the rest of its cage-mates into an excited frenzy of barking and jumping. Heather stumbled backward in fright and clung to her mother’s coat.
“That’s not the right dog for you,” came the deep voice of a kennel technician from inside another pen. “She’s not good around children. She’s going to need a very quiet, experienced home to help her with her confidence.”
Heather felt her mother’s firm, reassuring hand grasp her shoulder, and together they continued along the rows of home-seeking dogs.
“Hey! What about this one?” came Thomas’s voice from the far end of the viewing room.
At the back of the pen was a small, fawn-coloured Staffordshire Bull Terrier with ears that resembled crumpled autumn leaves. His brown, expressive eyes were alert, but friendly, and as Heather and Joan approached, he stood up from his bed, stretched, and bounded toward the front of the pen to greet them enthusiastically.
Thomas stuck his little hand into the enclosure, and the chubby puppy licked and mouthed his hand gently while pawing at his sleeve.
“Now that’s a great dog for you,” said the kennel technician brightly as he came over to join them. “He was found as a stray, but he’s very friendly. He’s young, so he’s very trainable, and he tested safe around children and other dogs. He’s a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, but don’t let the ‘Bull’ part put you off. Staffies are great family dogs and can adapt to almost any lifestyle.”
Heather scrunched her face up as both her mother and brother fawned over the energetic puppy. She was unnerved at the sight of the huge, toothy grin the dog seemed to be giving.
“Daddy, daddy! We got you a present!” exclaimed Thomas as he and his mother carried Zak’s crate and a bag of pet supplies into the house.
Heather watched quietly from the safety of the sofa as the boisterous puppy zoomed around the living and bulldozed into her grandmother’s the coffee table. The puppy, now named “Zak” was tearing around the entire first floor of the house, mouthing everything he encountered and performing exaggerated play-bows, appealing for someone to engage him in play. She looked over at her father, his gaze focused entirely on his unexpected, hyperactive gift. She watched in silent hope as the faintest ghost of a smile formed on her father’s face.
Almost immediately, Steve and Zak became inseparable companions. Zak provided Heather’s father with some much-needed comfort, and his need for daily walks encouraged Steve to make more of an effort to get up each morning and head out of the front door. Having a dog turned out to be a great way to engage in light conversation with strangers, and both Heather and Thomas noticed that visits to their father’s house were much more cheerful than they had been in months. He had even started to shave again.
During the fleeting summer months, Heather would look forward to the weeklong camping trips she took with her mother’s family. Sadly, her father was never quite well enough to join in the fun, but being bundled together in caravan with her favourite cousins and doting aunties and uncles were the holidays Heather looked forward to the most. This summer, the whole family had chosen to explore the beautiful Lake District in the north of England. The Lake District is famous for its rugged beauty, its untamed expanse of ancient woodland and forest, and of course its stunning, seemingly endless sapphire blue lakes.
For a whole week, Heather scarcely had a moment to rest. Her days were full of laughter as she hiked, fished, and giggled with her cousins as they swapped secrets. By night, everyone would huddle around the campfire in their pyjamas and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows as the uncles and older cousins took turns sharing ghost stories and spine-chilling urban legends. By the time Heather’s head hit the pillow each night, she was already sound asleep, peacefully dreaming of the previous day’s fun and anticipating the promise of more sunshine adventures to come.
“Heather?”
From her deep sleep, Heather could hear someone calling her name.
“Heather, wake up, love.”
She cracked her sleep-filled eyes open just the tiniest amount and groaned as the morning light poured into her eyes. She could just about make out the silhouette of her mother. For a moment, she thought that she might be dreaming, but her mother spoke again.
“You need to wake up and pack your things, love. We have to leave.”
Heather rubbed her eyes and sat up in her air mattress. Looking around, she could see that her cousins were all still asleep, peacefully snoring under many mismatched blankets and duvets.
“W-why? What’s wrong?” she croaked.
“It’s your father” her mother whispered. “He’s taken a turn for the worse and we have to go to him straight away.”
The guttural sound of the car rang in Heather’s ears as they raced back up the motorway toward Glasgow. A cold numbness descended on Heather as they tried desperately to make their way to the hospital. Vaguely, she could hear her mother trying to calm Thomas down, so, to spare her mother’s feelings, Heather held back her own tears and asked no questions. She allowed her mind to shift into autopilot as she silently hoped and prayed that she was somehow having a bad dream.
She did not notice her mother furiously shouting at the security guard who protested her parking the car in a reserved space. She did not feel her legs moving as they ran up the stairs of the car park and sprinted toward the hospital reception doors. She could hardly register the words of the nurse who ushered them through the labyrinth of sterile corridors and bleak waiting areas.
Not until they reached a private room, where a sombre looking surgeon was waiting outside for them, did Heather finally realise that she was not dreaming. Her heart shattered as the sound of her mother’s distraught cries pierced her mental fog and brought her back to reality.
Whether a minute or an hour had passed, Heather did not know. She looked up at her mother, who was crying into the surgeon’s shoulder, and then she glanced down at Thomas. His large, watery eyes and lost expression awoke a strength in Heather which she hadn’t known before. She silently vowed that she would be strong for her family as she held her brother and hugged her mother.
The funeral passed by in a blur of flowers and familiar faces. Heather stayed true to her promise. She bit her lip as the coffin bearers carried her father’s casket into the church, and she held her chin up as family members cupped her shoulder and told her to be strong. The summer sun did little to warm Heather or lift her spirits, but she valiantly tried to continue on with an air of normalcy for the sake of everyone around her.
A week after the funeral, Heather awoke to find her mother and grandmother having coffee and cake in the kitchen. She could tell from their red noses and the abundance of tissues on the table that they had been crying, so she greeted her grandmother with a smile and as much warmth as she could possibly muster. As she hugged her grandmother, Heather heard a small whimper, and she glanced down to see Zak in his pet carrier.
“Your father left him to you,” said her grandmother.
Heather was stunned into silence. Her mother smiled and nodded at her in an encouraging manner. Crouching down onto her knees, Heather peered into the carrier at the lost-looking puppy. He seemed depressed, his sad eyes accentuated by how flat his ears were lying against his head. Although she liked Zak, she only saw him on her weekend visits to her dad’s house, and she was secretly still afraid of his energy and his habit of putting his huge mouth around everything he could fit in it.
Joan could sense her daughter’s hesitation.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to take him, Heather. We can find him a good home somewhere else.” Almost as though Zak could understand their conversation, he whined softly and licked at the grate of his carrier.
Heather peered over at her grandmother. Although she had been caring for her father, she, too, was in poor health and couldn’t possibly take care of such an energetic puppy.
“Can we try for a week?” asked Heather.
Her mother nodded in agreement and opened the carrier to allow Zak out to explore his new home.
Suddenly having to adjust to having Zak at home was not easy. He was teething, and, like many teething puppies, he liked to chase legs and feet as they walked past. At bedtime, Zak would not settle on the floor and would whine and cry out in the darkness.
Toward the end of their weeklong trial of having Zak at home, Heather was just about to drift off to sleep in her bed. Suddenly Zak’s needle-sharp puppy teeth nipped up at her toes, piercing her sock and nicking her skin.
“Owch, Zak! No!” cried Heather in a mixture of anger and pain, and she scrambled quickly up the bunkbed ladder into Thomas’s bed.
Being a heavy sleeper, Thomas did not stir, but Heather couldn’t get comfortable. It was far too hot to be sharing a bed, and she didn’t want to climb back down to her bed and risk another bite to her feet.
Over an hour passed, and Heather was growing increasingly warm and uncomfortable. She peered over the side of the top bunk. Her bedroom door was cracked ever so slightly open, the light from the hallway gently illuminating a patch of carpet on the floor and the small brown lump that was Zak. Heather’s mind wandered back to her grandmother’s house and how her father always enjoyed telling everyone how Zak loved to cuddle up at night. How was it possible to cuddle something so annoying and with such sharp teeth? Did her father really bond with Zak that much?
Carefully, so as not to wake Thomas or Zak, Heather pulled herself over the side of the top bunk and slowly placed her foot on the wooden ladder. Zak immediately lifted his head and watched silently, his head tilting from side to side as Heather slowly descended and, without touching floor, climbed back into her bed.
Scarcely a moment had passed before she felt the telltale signs of Zak trying to climb up on her bed once more. She curled her toes, anticipating the sharp pain of Zak’s needle-sharp teeth once more.
The mattress dipped slightly as the puppy used all of his upper body strength to heave himself up onto the bed. Heather held her breath as she watched him disappear under the duvet where her feet would normally be and silently began to panic as Zak began to belly crawl under the covers, up over her knees, past her hips and up toward her chest. A moment later, the duvet rose up by her neck and fell backward to reveal Zak’s huge, smiling face. His smooth, round liquorice nose was touching her own. Each time she breathed in, she inhaled his light, comforting scent. A scent which she had often faintly smelled on her father. Without warning, Heather felt her eyes begin to prickle. She had tried so hard to be strong for her family, but lying in the darkness with her father’s familiar scent floating around her, she finally dropped her guard and allowed herself to cry. Like a warm summer rain, the tears began to fall, leaving salty, wet trails on her cheeks. With each tear, stifled sob, and grit of her teeth, Zak gently licked her cheeks and ear, laying his body on her chest, his warm weight comforting her. His eyes were gentle and full of understanding, almost as if to say, “I miss him too.”
***
The distant rumble of snowploughs startled Heather. Scattered in the distance, the headlights of cars reflected off of the snow, casting eerie shadows over the hills. Had she fallen back asleep? She glanced outside. It had stopped snowing.
Heather had was still absentmindedly holding her mug of chai tea in her hand, though now it was lukewarm, and its sweet aroma had dissipated.
Nestled against her thigh, Zak stared up at her lovingly with his dark, cacao bean eyes. He licked his lips contentedly as she gently kneaded and massaged his greying scruff.
Less than twenty minutes later, Heather, now bundled in copious amounts of warm layers, complete with snow boots, a thick scarf, and earmuffs, was blasting the heat in her car as high as it would go. The snow melted off her ice scraper and was creating a sludgy puddle of water on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat.
Heather’s phone chimed once and a message from one of her colleagues lit up its screen: “Hi H.! Someone just dumped a box of Staffie puppies outside the shelter. Could really use some reinforcements. Drive safe, the roads are mad!”
Heather secured her phone back into its dashboard cradle and looked out at Zak. His robust body was protected from the cold by a Christmas-themed dog sweater she had dressed him in. He was panting hard from having galloped at full speed through the driveway snow, his hot breath turning the air around him into mist.
“Are you coming, then?” she called as she opened her car door.
In one bound, Zak enthusiastically leapt into the car and onto the passenger-side seat where he immediately settled himself into a ball shape. With his red and green sweater, he almost resembled a Christmas pudding. She smiled at his willingness to follow her wherever she went, and she wondered if he was aware that the dog rescue she now managed was the same place they had first met all those years ago.
As she carefully steered her way through the snowy landscape, she thought of her family and how they had built snowmen together, her father lifting her up onto his shoulders so that she could place the carrot on the snowman’s face.
She would always miss and yearn for her father, but, in many ways, she felt that he was never truly gone, having left behind a most precious Staffordshire Bull Terrier to love and protect her. Zak had walked faithfully by her side as she grew out of her overalls and into makeup. He watched proudly from the sidelines as she tore open the envelope containing her exam results and both she and her mother jumped and cried out with joy. And when the hard day finally came for Heather to leave the safety of her family’s nest and grow in her own space, Zak was sitting by her side as the real estate agent handed her the keys to her home.
Zak was the most wonderful and comforting gift her father could ever have left for her, and she would be forever grateful to him for the love and lessons he taught her in their short time together. Above all, she loved him for having the wisdom to leave her with the greatest gift of all, unconditional love.
