Missing Toby Page 6

  It must have been the stray, thought Harriet.

  “We went as far as the pound. The conditions were atrocious. We turned the car round to go back – and then we saw him.” Mrs Howard’s eyes filled with tears. “We thought he was dead. He was lying on the ground by a fence, soaked to the skin, plastered with mud. We couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.” She paused to wipe her eyes. Harriet looked through the door at Max. He was so still.

  “We wrapped him in a towel. He was deathly cold. I held him against me till we got home. He was still unconscious but I could feel his heartbeat. We covered him with a blanket and placed a hot water bottle against him. I warmed some milk and we put some whisky in it and fed it to him with an eye-dropper. We carried his basket into the sitting-room and watched him till it was light. Then we drove to the vet. The vet said his pulse was strong and regular but he was dehydrated and needed food. She said Max was exhausted but he would recover, unless he got pneumonia. She showed us how to hold his head and feed him.”

  Mrs Howard leant back in her chair. “I took the day off work yesterday. He opened his eyes during the morning and licked my hand once when I was feeding him. Otherwise, he’s just lain there. But the vet says he won’t get pneumonia now.”

  “Such a gallant, little dog,” she said. “He battled through that storm to find Gus.”

  “Is Gus back home?” asked Harriet.

  “Yes, Ted – Mr Jacobs – picked him up yesterday. He brought him in to see Max last night. Gus lay down by Max’s basket and wouldn’t leave. He spent the night here. It meant we could get some sleep.”

  Harriet went to the laundry. She stroked Max. “You have to get better,” she said. “You have to go on being here. I can’t manage without you as well as without Toby.”

  “By the way, Harriet,” said Mrs Howard, “did you leave that red jersey in our letterbox? I found it this morning with a note pinned to it saying “For Max.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Harriet said.

  “How strange,” said Mrs Howard “It’s been perfect for keeping Max cosy. It’s a child’s jersey – that why I thought of you.”

  “The dog you saw limping along in the storm, what colour was she?” asked Harriet.

  “Brown and white, I think,” replied Mrs Howard.

  Harriet stood up. “I have to go now,” she said. “Could I come back tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Mrs Howard. “Max might be up by then. By the way, that’s a very interesting brooch you’re wearing. May I look at it?”

  Harriet unpinned the brooch. “It’s like the red jersey,” she said. “Someone left it in our letterbox with my name on it.”

  “This is quite old,” said Mrs Howard. “You don’t see much filigree brass work any more.” She counted the glinting, amber-yellow stones. “Twenty-one stones – it must have been a 21st birthday gift. What a special present, Harriet.”

  Harriet pinned the large, eye-shaped brooch back on her cardigan and went home.

  What should she do about the brown and white dog? Where had Gus and Max been hiding her? Was she lying somewhere exhausted like Max? She decided to take some food to Gus. He would understand why she’d brought it.

  When she got home she told her mother what had happened to Max.

  “He’s lucky to have survived,” said her mother. “He must be very tough.”

  Harriet waited till her mother went to hang out the washing. Her father was in the garden. She opened the fridge – what could she take without her mother noticing? She took a sausage off a plate, wrapped it in greaseproof paper and slipped it in her pocket. What else? There was a large bowl of soup, full of vegetables, barley and bits of meat. Carefully she lifted it onto the bench, found a container and spooned some of the soup into it.

  There were footsteps behind her. Her mother stood in the doorway.

  “You’re taking Max a little treat, aren’t you?” smiled her mother.

  Harriet smiled back. She didn’t want to tell her mother a lie.

  “Just as long as you’ve left enough for our lunch.”

  “Oh, yes, there’s heaps left,” replied Harriet and returned the soup to the fridge.

  Her mother went back outside and Harriet put the food in a plastic bag. Then she went to the bathroom and took some cotton wool and the ointment her mother put on scratches and cuts. She found the tweezers and some cotton wool buds. They all fitted into her pocket. She stuck her head out the bathroom window. “I’ll pop down with the soup now,” she called. “Won’t be long.”

  Harriet Turns Vet

  When Harriet walked up to the house, Gus came down the steps to greet her, his tail swishing majestically.

  “Oh, Gus, you’re home again!” Harriet took his face in her hands and kissed him on top of his head. Gus licked her nose. “It was so unfair you were the one who got picked up, when you only came to help me. Oh, Gus, was it terrible?”

  Gus smelt the sausage and nudged the plastic bag.

  “It’s for the stray dog,” said Harriet. “Is she still around?” She waited anxiously. What if Gus thought she’d brought the food for him?

  But Gus immediately set off towards the bottom of the garden. Harriet walked carefully along the squelchy tracks, stepping over broken branches and stooping under wet branches. The storm had done some damage. They came to a tumbledown shed and Gus gave a soft bark. She’s in there! thought Harriet.

  Gus pushed his way through the lopsided door, wedged open by the partly collapsed roof. Harriet squeezed through. She saw the dog sitting on a wet sack looking thoroughly miserable. Her coat was filthy. She tried to stand up but yelped with pain, holding up her front paw.

  “It’s much worse than before!” Harriet exclaimed. “How far did you walk during the storm?”

  She took the sausage out of the bag and broke it into pieces. She removed the lid from the soup and put it next to the sausage.

  Girl gulped the food down, licking the container clean.

  Harriet reached down for it. “I’ll get some water from the garden tap,” she said, and picked her way back to the lawn. She didn’t notice Mr Jacobs watching her from the kitchen as she rinsed the container, filled it and walked back into the bushes. “You can drink some,” she told Girl, “but I need some, too, to clean your paw.”

  Harriet squatted on the muddy floor. She felt nervous about touching the paw. Would she get bitten?

  “This is going to hurt,” she said, stroking Girl’s back, “I can’t leave it the way it is.” She pushed Girl’s back until she lay down on her side. Gus sat down beside her. Harriet breathed deeply and took the paw in her hand. It was hot and swollen and there was pus between the pads.

  “We’ll have to clean this,” she said, “otherwise I won’t be able to see what’s causing the trouble.” She dipped a cotton wool bud in the water and cautiously started to remove the pus. Girl flinched, but she didn’t try to stop Harriet. It wasn’t until Harriet was using her fifth cotton bud that she saw the sharp edge of a small glass splinter lodged into the side of a pad.

  Harriet examined it. It was at an awkward angle. She took out the tweezers and smeared some ointment on the wound. “So it doesn’t get infected,” she explained. The tweezers were not quite fine enough for the job. “I’ll have to hurt you now,” said Harriet, and she separated the pads and pressed the tweezers into the crevice. Girl yelped loudly. Harriet gripped the splinter and drew it out, covered with blood and pus. She showed the dogs, her hand shaking. Girl whimpered and licked her paw. Gus gave a short, gruff bark and looked at Harriet. It sounds like ‘thank you’, she thought.

  “You are so brave,” said Harriet. “I don’t know how you limped along in the storm with that glass in your paw. I do like you so much – you’ve got spirit.”

  She finished by smearing ointment thickly between the pads. Harriet stroked Girl some more and looked round her. “You can’t stay here,” she said. “It’s miserable. I wish I could take you home but I know what my parents would do. They�
��d take you to the SPCA and I’d never see you again.”

  Gus and Girl pricked up their ears. Girl began to growl, but Gus wagged his tail. Harriet stood up. What was it? Then she heard twigs snapping. A hand appeared through the door opening, then a leg, and Mr Jacobs’ face appeared.

  “I can’t get in,” he said. “You’d better all come out.”

  Harriet climbed through followed by Gus, but Girl refused to budge. I don’t blame her, thought Harriet, who knows what Mr Jacobs will do?

  “What about the other dog?” asked Mr Jacobs.

  “She won’t come,” said Harriet, “she doesn’t trust anyone.”

  “Well, at least we might as well be comfortable,” said Mr Jacobs “Let’s go back to the porch.”

  He settled into his deckchair and Harriet sat on the step. Gus lay between them.

  “I didn’t know she was there,” began Harriet. “I’d seen her before and I knew she had a lame paw, but I didn’t know where she was living.”

  Mr Jacobs looked at Gus. “I suppose this is your doing,” he said. “You and your mate next door.” Gus thumped his tail. “We’ve got a problem here. We can’t do anything for her if she won’t come out. I can’t crawl in there. Anyway, that shed is dangerous. I’m surprised it didn’t come down in the storm. Don’t you go back inside,” he said to Harriet.

  Harriet spoke in a rush. “I want her for my dog. She’s in a terrible mess. I fixed her paw, I want to look after her. My mother says I can’t have a dog. Please, please don’t send her to the SPCA, Mr Jacobs. She’s my dog.”

  “Hmmm,” said Mr Jacobs. He looked thoughtful. Harriet laid her head on Gus’s back. “It’s up to you, Gus,” she murmured, “you have to keep her safe.”

  “Gus can’t find her a new home,” said Mr Jacobs, “and she can’t stay in the shed. She looks half-starved. Which reminds me,” he said, reaching behind him, “this was in the letterbox – wasn’t brought by the postie, and it’s not for me, that’s for sure.” He was holding a paper bag. He opened it and took out a large, meaty bone. He placed it on the floor and wiped his fingers on his pants. “Give it to your friend in the shed.”

  Gus nudged it with his nose, then picked it up and carried it around the corner of the house.

  “Tell you what, Harriet,” said Mr Jacobs, “the dog can live with me for a few days while we work out what to do. I promise not to get in touch with the SPCA without telling you first. When you visit Max, you can call in here and play with her.”

  Harriet was silent. What difference would a few days make? Her parents would still say no and the dog would end up in the SPCA just the same.

  “Yeah, OK, thanks,” said Harriet. At least she had a couple of days to work out what to do next.

  But Girl had other ideas.

  Break–through

  Her mum had cooked muffins as usual. Saturday lunch was one of Harriet’s favourites. Her dad was always there and her mum was nearly as happy as she’d been before Toby went away.

  Yet Harriet knew she was going to spoil it all by asking them about the dog, so she put it off until near the end of lunch.

  “How was Max this morning?” her father asked.

  “He looks thin and his coat is scruffy. And he just lies there and looks at you.”

  “Did he enjoy the soup?” asked her mother.

  “Ahh – it got gobbled up in a flash,” replied Harriet. She smiled at her mother to hide her embarrassment and buttered another muffin.

  “But you didn’t take the soup to Max, did you, Harriet?” her mother said quietly. “I rang Mrs Howard and she said you weren’t there.”

  Harriet put her knife down carefully. She bit her lip. “I didn’t actually lie to you, Mum,” she said. “You see there’s a poor, little stray dog who’s starving. Max and Gus have been looking after her. She had a wounded paw, and she’s sheltering in a tumbledown shed at the bottom of Mr Jacobs’ garden. She even tried to go to the pound with Max in the storm.” Her words came spilling out.

  “So the soup and the sausage were for the stray dog,” said her mother.

  “And I took some things from the medicine cupboard to fix her paw.”

  “Slow down Harriet,” said her father. “Does Mr Jacobs know about this dog?”

  “He found out this morning. He’s going to look after her properly for a few days because he says the shed is dangerous. It’s horrible,” she burst out, “it’s muddy and she just sits on a wet sack.” “You fixed her paw,” said her father, “and she didn’t snap at you?”

  “No. I was scared she would, but Gus settled her down and she was awfully brave. She had a splinter of glass stuck in one of the pads.”

  Her mother and father looked at one another.

  “Harry,” said her father gently, “you do know the dog will have to go to the SP –”

  “No!” shouted Harriet. “No! She’s my dog. I’m keeping her and I won’t let you send her away!”

  Her mother sighed. “Harry, darling, we can’t –”

  “We can! Why can’t we? She’s only little – she won’t eat much. She can sleep in my room. I’ll teach her to be well-behaved, I promise! Please, please, she can be my best friend.”

  “We’re not having a dog, Harriet,” said her father firmly.

  Harriet burst into tears. “I hate you!” she shouted. “You’re not doing anything about finding Toby. Even when I see him you won’t go and talk to him. And now you won’t let me have a dog. I hate you!” She pushed her chair back. “I’ll run away with my little dog and I won’t come back, just like Toby!”

  Her mother started to cry. Her father groaned. He came round the table to Harriet and put his arms around her. She tried to push him away but he held on to her tightly.

  “Harry, Harry,” he murmured. He sat down on the couch with Harriet next to him. Harriet sobbed and struggled against him, but he kept on stroking her hair. “Darling Harry, you know Toby isn’t coming back, he’s dead. He isn’t coming back, Harry. You know that really, don’t you? He got very sick and he didn’t get better.”

  Her mother came and stood behind the couch. She laid her cheek against Harriet’s father’s head and held on to one of Harriet’s hands. Gradually Harriet’s sobs quietened. Her mother handed Harriet a tissue.

  “I don’t hate you,” whispered Harriet. “And I do know Toby won’t ever come home.”

  The three of them were still for several moments.

  “I’ll make another cup of tea,” said her mother finally.

  Harriet sighed deeply and leaned against her father’s chest. “I miss him such a lot,” she said quietly. “It’s so lonely. There’s nobody to do things with. Why did he have to die? Was it something I did?”

  “Dearest Harry,” her father answered, “he picked up a terrible sickness – meningitis. It most certainly wasn’t anything you did. We were just so thankful you didn’t get sick as well.”

  Harriet felt something tight inside her loosen up. She took a big breath. “I wish I could find a way of saying sorry to Tim,” she said. “I was so awful to him, and he was Toby’s best friend.”

  “Shall we drop by some time?” her father replied. “Would you like to give him one of Toby’s models?”

  Harriet sat up. “Have you still got them!”

  “We packed them in the attic,” said her father. “We could go and look at them later, and you could choose one for Tim.”

  Harriet felt as though a heavy load had been lifted off her. The models were still there, and she’d be able to give one to Tim as a way of saying sorry.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she said, “I’d love that.”

  Her father gave her a big smile. “Why don’t we go and talk to Mr Jacobs,” he said. “I need to find out a bit more about dogs.”

  Harriet stared at him.

  He took a cup of tea from her mother. “Thank you, dear.”

  “You realise that the dog must belong to someone,” he told Harriet. “There might be a girl, just like you, who’s upset abo
ut losing her.”

  “I wouldn’t mind giving her back to a good home,” Harriet replied.

  “Have you given her a name?” asked her mother.

  “I’ve thought about it,” said Harriet. “Her shaggy coat, her silky ears, her waggy tail, … though she was scared of me the first time I met her.” She paused. “I think the best name is Honey, ‘cos she’s got honey-coloured patches, and she’s a sweet little doggy.”

  Harriet’s father stood up. “Right! Let’s go and meet Honey. Are you coming, Kath?” he asked Harriet’s mother.

  She shook her head. “I must get into the garden,” she said.

  Harriet took her father’s hand. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said, and they walked along to Ngaiwi Street.

  Mr Jacobs was sitting on the porch. There was no sign of Gus – or Honey. Harriet felt a stab of worry. He got to his feet when Harriet and her dad walked down the path.

  “Well, hello, Harriet,” he smiled. “This looks like your dad.” Mr Jacobs and her father shook hands.

  “David McKibbin – we’re on the main road, number 45.”

  “Ted Jacobs.”

  “We’ve heard a lot about Gus – and Max,” said Harriet’s dad. “It’s been good of you and the Howards to make Harriet so welcome.”

  Mr Jacobs smiled. “I think those two dogs would go into a decline if Harriet stopped visiting. They just about talk to one another, the three of them. Harriet’s got a real feel for dogs.”

  “That’s quite surprising,” said Harriet’s father. “Neither my wife nor I have any experience of dogs. Actually, that’s why I’ve come,” he continued, “Harriet’s set her heart on adopting the stray dog I believe has been living in your shed.”

  Mr Jacobs pulled a couple of chairs forward. “Have a seat,” he said. “Fact is she’s taken herself off again.”

  Harriet gasped. “No! When?”

  “Not long ago,” replied Mr Jacobs. “She wouldn’t leave the shed this morning, so I took some food down hoping to coax her out, and she’d gone. Probably thought I’d turn her in.” He looked at Harriet kindly. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said, “she’ll have to come out for food. I’m sure she’ll keep in touch with Gus and Max and maybe they’ll persuade her to come back. I’ll put out food and leave a box and a blanket in the garage.” He patted Harriet’s hand. “She’s obviously had some tough knocks – she’s a survivor.”