**June**
She was due any day now. A huge three-year-old Rottweiler named Izzy. But to those who loved her, she was simply June. I cant remember who first let slip that odd yet affectionate nickname, but it stuck fast. So the dog lived with two namesone for her inner circle, the other for the rest of the world. And she didnt mind: June it was, then. No harm done.
Aunt Lydia, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, and endlessly soft-hearted, utterly devoted to her furry child. The Rottweiler knew this and took full advantage. Despite having completed my *Basic Obedience Course* with flying colours, even passing her obedience test with ease, Izzy allowed herself plenty of liberties under her owners leniency. She slept exclusively in their bed, often shoving Uncle Walter onto the floor before dawn with her powerful paws, sprawling across his spot with a loud snore. She ate like a proper family member at the kitchen table, resting her heavy head on Aunt Lydias lapor sometimes nicking a bite straight from a plate without a hint of guilt.
The pair spoiled her rotten, raising the alarm at the slightest whimper or hint of discomfort. And so it was that night.
Back then, mobile phones didnt exist, but people managedtaxis and addresses got you where you needed to be. When Aunt Lydia brought me to their place, she tried to stay composed, though worry lined her voice. June met us at the door, heavily pregnant but in good health, breathing laboured but steady. By my estimate, shed bless her owners with a dozen pups at least.
Well? Aunt Lydia fretted, eyes darting to the dog. Is it time?
Aunt Lydia, I said, flustered, let me at least take my coat off and wash my hands before examining her.
June, thrilled by the attention, yipped and wagged her backside, grinning wide with her massive muzzle. Labour was still twelve to fourteen hours awayno complications, no need for intervention yet.
What?! Aunt Lydia gasped. Youll leave us alone tonight? What if the pups come early? What if one gets stuck? Her eyes froze with fear. June, sensing it, whined and stared at me pleadingly.
Shes fine. Shell deliver by late morning.
Laura, the older woman begged, if anything happens to June, I wont survive it. You remember her illness? I nodded. Remember how she nearly died? Another nod. *I* nearly died with her. Do you want that again? Her eyebrows shot up.
Truthfully, that memory still unsettled meAunt Lydia hysterical on the rug beside her parvovirus-stricken pup. Such panic over a dog was new in my practice. It took effort to calm her then so I could treat the real patient. I wasnt keen on a repeat.
Right, then, Aunt Lydia said, suddenly cheerful, and bustled off to make tea, pleased shed convinced me to stay. June, however, seemed to recall her training. A well-mannered dog didnt belong in the kitchen but by the front door.
Wheres June? Aunt Lydia frowned, rising when the dog didnt appear. She found her sulking on the hallway mat, head on paws.
June? The dog glanced up knowingly but stayed put.
Ah, Aunt Lydia realised. Youre scared of Laura, arent you? Mean old instructor wont let you in the kitchen. She laughed girlishly.
I never ceased marvelling at dogs cunning. Spoiled daily, allowed every indulgenceyet she remembered the rules with me. Clever girl.
Their flat wasnt small by local standardstwo bright rooms facing south, second floor of a cosy wooden house. After a light supper (forced on me by Aunt Lydia), I was shown the guest room. A proper bathroom with hot water, rare in our towns winters, made refusal impossible.
Steamy and relaxed from the shower, I stepped outand nearly tripped over June.
Stalking me? I asked sternly. She hesitated. What does our expectant mum want? I added, as she gazed up adoringly.
June bolted to the lounge where her owners sat, then glanced back*May I sleep here?* Cunning creature. But at the last second, she returned to the hall.
Later, Uncle Walter came home from work. More tea, more chatter. Oddly, June refused to sleep with them that night, baffling everyone.
Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky; the moon vanished before it could shine. Winter, in a word.
By midnight, all retired. Sleep eluded meIm a night owlso I picked up a magazine from the bedside table. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy. I flicked off the lamp, leaving the door ajar in case June needed me.
Then *I* was the one in trouble.
I woke to a stabbing pain from neck to heart. My medical bag was in the other room. The ache worsenedstanding was impossible. Breath came short; dizziness and weakness set in. I called out weakly.
June appeared.
June, I whispered. Fetch Lydia.
The dog studied me, then tore down the hall. Scrabbling at their door*locked*. Bad luck. She clattered back, frantic.
June. Open it. *Open*. My lips cracked dry. The pain surged. If I passed out now, I was done for.
On her third try, she shouldered the door open and roused Aunt Lydia.
June, need the loo? Its early, came the sleepy grumble.
The dog persisted until Aunt Lydia rosebut instead of coming to me, she leashed June and headed for the door.
I heard the struggle. June planted her feet, resisting. It took strength to move a beast her size. With a yank, she dragged Aunt Lydiastill in her coatback to my room.
Bewildered, the woman gaped at me, then the dog.
Laura youre ill?
*No, Im joking*, I thought bitterly. But the pain was real.
My bag, I managed.
Aunt Lydia sprinted for it. Should I call an ambulance? The neighbour has a phone
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the syringe. Time was criticalhelp yourself if you can. But I lacked strength to open the vial.
Thankfully, Aunt Lydia snapped it, drew the dose, and handed it over. I jabbed my thigh without flinching.
*If I live, Im getting checked out.*
The pain ebbed. Colour returned to my cheeksso Aunt Lydia said, and she never lied. She sat shaking over tea as I thanked my saviour.
June *knew*. Dogs understand.
Sleep was gone. Later, June asked to go out repeatedly, bringing in powdery snow on Aunt Lydias shoulders. By noon, contractions began. My turn to help.
Plump, squirming pups came one after another. Izzy stared at her treasures, utterly stunned. That dazed new-mum look stayed with me forever.
Shes long gone now, after a full life with those who adored her. But I still think of her sometimesmy rescuer.
Animals remember kindness. And years later, when my hands trembled not from pain but age, Id sit by the window with a cup of tea, watching snow fall just like that night. A young Rottweiler would curl at my feetgift from Aunt Lydia, the runt of Junes last litter. Shed stare up at me with those knowing eyes, and Id whisper, Youre just like her, arent you? And she always would wag her tail, slow and sure, as if to say: *I remember. I remember everything. And in the quiet, with snow still falling beyond the glass, Id rest my hand on her head, feeling the warm weight of memory press against my palm. The world outside moved on, but here, in this stillness, time folded gentlydog and woman, bound by something older than words. Shed sigh, shift closer, and Id smile, knowing some debts are never paid, only carried forward, one soft breath at a time.
