**ZUNIA**
She was due any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Aizabut to her family, she was simply Zunia. No one could recall who first uttered that quirky, affectionate nickname, but it stuck firmly. And so, the dog lived with two names: one for those who loved her, another for the rest of the world. She never protested. *Zunia it is, then. No harm done.*
Aunt Lydia, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, and endlessly doting on her four-legged child. Zunia knew this and exploited her softness to the fullest. Despite completing my *Basic Obedience Training* courseeven passing the obedience exam with flying coloursshe had free rein at home, thanks to her indulgent owners. She slept exclusively in their bed, often shoving Uncle Robert onto the floor at dawn with her powerful paws before sprawling across his spot, snoring loudly. She ate at the kitchen table like any other family member, resting her heavy head on Aunt Lydias lap. Sometimes, shed snatch food straight from a plate without a hint of guilt.
Her owners spoiled her rotten. At the slightest whimper or hint of discomfort, theyd rally half the town. And thats exactly what happened this time.
Back then, mobile phones didnt exist, but people managedtaxis and knowing where to find the right person got them out of tight spots. When Aunt Lydia brought me to her home, she triedas usualto keep her composure. Zunia greeted us at the door, swollen and panting heavily but otherwise healthy. A mother on the brink, by my quick estimation, due to deliver a good dozen pups. *At least.*
Well? Aunt Lydias voice trembled as she glanced at 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.
Zunia, anticipating the attention, yipped excitedly, wagging her rear and grinning wide with that massive muzzle of hers. She wouldnt whelp for another twelve to fourteen hours. No complications, nothing requiring immediate interventionwhich I promptly assured her owner.
*What?* Aunt Lydia gasped. Youre leaving us alone tonight? What if the labour starts early? What if a pup gets stuck? Her eyes froze with terror. Sensing her fear, Zunia whined and fixed me with a pleading stare.
Ive told youshes fine. Shell deliver by mid-morning.
Laura, the older woman begged, if anything happens to Zunia, I wont survive. You remember how ill she was? I nodded. Remember when she nearly died? Another nod. I almost died with her. Do you want a repeat? Her brows arched accusingly.
That memory still unnerved meher hysterics on the carpet beside the pup battling parvovirus. Panicking over a dog like that? A first in my practice. It had taken every ounce of persuasion to steady her long enough for me to treat the real patient. A repeat was the last thing I wanted.
There, there, Aunt Lydia soothed, relieved Id agreed to stay, and bustled off to put the kettle on.
Zunia, suddenly remembering her training, slunk from the kitchen to the hallwayher proper place.
Wheres Zunia? Aunt Lydia fretted, rising when the dog didnt return. She found her sprawled on the mat, head drooped between her paws.
Zunia? The Rottweiler flicked a knowing glance but stayed put.
Ah, Aunt Lydia chuckled. Afraid of Laura, are we? The *strict teacher* wont let you in the kitchen, eh? Her laughter tinkled like a childs.
I marvelled at the dogs cunning. Spoiled rotten at home, yet the moment discipline loomed, she played the model pupil. *Clever girl.*
Their flat was spacious by local standardstwo bright rooms facing south, on the second floor of a cosy wooden house. After a light supper (forced on me by Aunt Lydia), I was shown to the spare room. A proper bathroom with hot waterrare in our towns wintersmade refusal impossible.
Stepping out of the shower, I nearly collided with Zunia.
Stalking me? I asked sternly. She hesitated. What does our expectant mother want?
She bolted toward the living room, where her owners sat, then glanced back*asking permission?* The sly thing. At the last second, she retreated to the hall.
Later, Uncle Robert returned from work. More tea, more chatter. Zunia, for once, refused to sleep with them, baffling everyone.
Outside, snow clouds smothered the sky, the moon vanishing before it could gleam. Winter, in every sense.
By midnight, everyone retired. Sleep eluded menight owl that I amso I thumbed through a magazine until my eyelids grew leaden. Switching off the bedside lamp, I left the door ajar. *Just in case.*
Then the pain struck.
A searing agony shot from my neck to my chest. My medical bag was in the other room. The pain surgedtoo sharp to move. Breath fled; dizziness and weakness set in. I tried to call out, but only a whisper escaped.
Zunia appeared.
Zunia, I rasped, fetch Lydia.
She hesitated*thinking*then tore down the hall. Scrabbling at their door. *Locked.* No luck. She raced back, frantic.
Zunia. Open the door. *Open it.* My lips cracked with dryness. The pain worsened. *If I pass out, Im done.*
On her third attempt, she rammed the door open with her bulk and roused Aunt Lydia.
Zunia, need the loo? Its early But the dog wouldnt relent. Finally, Aunt Lydia roseonly to leash her and head for the stairs.
I heard the struggle. Zunia dug in, braced like a boulder. Thena yank. The dog hauled her bewildered owner straight to me.
Laura, are you ill?
*No, Im just joking,* I thought acidly. But the pain was real. *If I dont inject myself now, its over.*
My bag, I gasped.
Aunt Lydia sprinted off, returning with it. Should I call an ambulance? The neighbour downstairs has a phone
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the vial and syringe. My hands failed me. She snapped the ampoule, drew the dose, and I jabbed my thigh without flinching.
*If I live, Im getting checked.*
The pain ebbed. Colour returned to my cheeksso Aunt Lydia said, and she never lied. But she trembled for hours. Over tea, I thanked my saviour. Dogs *do* understand.
Sleep was impossible. Zunia asked to go outside repeatedly, tracking snow inside each time. By eleven the next morning, her contractions began.
My turn to help.
Puppy after puppysturdy, big-headed thingsarrived in quick succession. Aiza stared at her brood, utterly stunned. That dazed, heroic mothers gaze stayed with me forever.
Shes long gone now, after a full life with those who adored her. But I still think of hermy rescuer.
Animals remember kindness. And sometimes, when the wind is still and the light falls just right through the trees, I swear I hear the soft click of heavy paws on pavement, heading home.
