Ive already decided, Mum! Dont start over. Billy stared stubbornly out the window.
Youre nothing but a traitor!
Me?!! the boy gasped, his anger flaring. Thats me, a traitor?!
He snapped, bolted from the room, slammed the door behind him and, face buried in his pillow, slipped into memories.
Summer. Billy had just turned eight. For his birthday his dad gave him a flashy stunt bike hed been dreaming about. Billy spent every afternoon racing with the lads in the back garden, forgetting that his dads birthday was coming up too. Granddad snapped him back to reality.
Billy, have you got a present for Pop yet?
No, the lad muttered. Granddad, what am I supposed to give him?
If you dont mind, I can help. Well make something together.
For two weeks Billy and Granddad carved a wooden keyring. They cut, burned, sanded, and screwed on tiny polished hooks. Billy worked sidebyside with Granddad, even forgetting his new bike for a while.
On his dads birthday the old man was in an unusually festive mood. He accepted the congratulations with a grin, praised Billys gift, hugged and kissed Granddad. Mum handed dad a particularly fashionable jacket, joking that if he didnt have such a dazzling wife, he could even marry the jacket itself. Mum swatted him with a towel, snorting, Ive never seen such a whiteassnow coat before.
While they were all seated at the garden table, dad suddenly announced:
And now, dear ones, forgive me, Ive made a present for myself too. Ive finally fulfilled a childhood dream.
He rushed to the shed, where a rusted bike lay halfdisassembled. Returning with a wicker basket, Billy glanced and gasped: a stout black puppy slept peacefully inside.
Meet him, this is Dawson.
Mum gave dad a reproachful look and managed only:
Well, Daniel, youve outdone yourself!
Dad beamed with a childlike grin, crinkling his nose at the pup, his heart swelling. Billy was utterly delighted.
Soon enough Dawson became the darling of the whole household. The little Staffordshire Bull Terrier grew rapidly, turning into a powerful, broadchested dog with a surprisingly calm yet optimistic temperament. He adored his dad above all, as if he understood that dad was the most important person in his canine life. He loved the rest of the family, too. Hed chase Billy around, play tag, lounge lazily by the kitchen table while Mum cooked, sit with Granddad when he came over, and even watch television. For dad, he was worth anything, and once he rescued him from a serious mishap.
One evening dad was walking Dawson as usual in the old park beside the house. It was late, the streets were empty, and, unusually, dad let the dog off his leash. Dawson darted into the nearest bushes on his urgent business. Dad strolled leisurely down the path, occasionally calling, Stay close, lad.
Absorbed in his thoughts, he didnt notice two figures slipping onto the path from the darkness.
So, mate, you got a light or a few quid? one rasped.
Ive got neither. the other replied calmly. I dont smoke, dont carry cash.
Fancy a bite?
No thanks.
One of the thugs stepped forward, flicked a blade from his pocket. In that instant Dawson burst from the hedges, black as night, massive and imposing in the moonlight. The thugs froze, eyes wide.
Over here!
Dad snatched the leash and, with a calm authority, said:
Go on, boys, dont make a scene. Ive got nothing you want, and I wouldnt recommend riling a dog up.
Later, at home, Billy was convinced that a gentle Dawson would never turn on his dad. The truth hit when dad fell ill unexpectedly, a cancer that devoured him in four short years. Billy was left alone at sixteen.
Dawson never left Billys side, just as he had never left his fathers. It was as if the dog sensed his young master needed protection, and he stayed, refusing to wander off even for a moment.
Billy broke down in tears. He was now fifty. A year ago his mother had started seeing a German man named Hans. Ian, the son, never returned. Hed grown up, understanding his father could not come back. Hans was decent, treated Billy well, but two months ago when the man moved in, it turned out he was allergic to dogs.
It hadnt been a problem before, but once they all lived together, Hans began to wheeze. Mum, desperate, started pleading with Billy to give Dawson away.
Billy could not believe it, but he clenched his teeth, searched every friend for a new home for the dog. Yet every time he looked at Dawson, tears welled up. No one seemed ready to take on such a responsibility. Granddad was too frail to care for a Staffordshire.
I wont send him to a shelter! Billy declared after another heated discussion. He cant go there! Hes ours!
Billy, Hans is part of our family now. Hes ours. Mum whispered, fighting tears. Do you love the dog more than a person? More than me? More than Hans?
Mum, please dont be angry. I love Hans, truly. Dawson is my family yours, yours and Dads. Billy choked, barely holding back a sob. Mum, lets move in with Granddad. We wont be a burden.
And what am I supposed to do, split my life between two houses, keep a job, and now run around the city to keep the house?
Billy stared at the keyring hanging in the corridor, the leash still attached to Dawson, and with grim resolve said hed sorted everything.
Thats when Mum finally called him a traitor.
Lindsay, Granddad said over the phone late one night, in truth, let Billy stay with me. Well manage the house, weve done it before. And I could do with a bit of help.
Right you are, Lindsay, Hans replied, patting his cheek. Youll help Granddad. No need to part with the dog.
A click echoed as Granddad turned the lock. Dawson padded into the narrow hallway, followed by Billy, his bag of sports gear.
All set, Granddad, Mums got us out of a jam! Hans helped! Well live together now!
Dawson gave a contented huff and trotted to his usual spot near the television.
Billy, Granddads voice crackled over the line, sounding weary, something feels off. My heart aches. How long do you think youll stay?
Oh, Granddad, why didnt you call sooner! Im on my way!
Ian raced home after a lesson, his car screeching to a halt as the ambulance already waited. He was sitting by Granddads bedside.
Thank you, Margaret Sergeant, for looking after him. Im on my own now.
Together with Dawson, the black Staffordshire, they helped the paramedics open the door for the ambulance crew.
Dont be scared, a young nurse with a bright smile said, holding the curious dogs leash, Dawsons gentle, he wont bite.
Im not scared, the nurse replied, stepping past the doctor. He just looks fierce.
Its serious, lad, Ian observed, watching the doctors movements. Heart trouble, sudden, not something that just appeared. I gave an injection, now Ill write the prescription and recommend IVs. Could someone do home care?
No, Billy whispered, weve got no one.
I wouldnt recommend sending you to the hospital either, the doctor said, glancing at his assistant, Kira. Perhaps you could come over?
Ill pay, Billy said, nervous, eyeing Kira. Im a university student and I work parttime.
Im not worried, Kira smiled. Ill come as long as the dog doesnt eat me.
She settled on Dawsons couch, the dog lounging lazily, then gave him a playful wink. Dawson stuck out his tongue, tilted his head, and stared fondly at Kira.
Not a bite! Of course not! Billy blurted. Alright, Ms. Kira, Ill fetch everything we need. Ill leave the key for you.
Ill call tomorrow, Ms. Kira, not Mrs. Al… she corrected herself with a chuckle. See you soon.
Billy dashed to the pharmacy, poured tea for Granddad, then headed out for a walk with Dawson.
Did you like her? Granddad asked as Billy returned.
Kira? Yeah, shes sympathetic. She offered to help.
Shes a good person, Billy, youll get along.
Kira visited Ian regularly, as promised. Billy, when home, would escort her, the dog and himself, no longer fearing the dogs fierce look. Their outings grew longer, more frequent, and they spent most of their time together.
A year later a baby girl, Rosie, was born. Dawson, now a proud dad, met Kira at the hospital and never left the childs side. He swapped his favourite spot by the TV for the nursery, sleeping beside the cot, growling protectively whenever Rosie stirred, sniffing her tiny fingers. On walks he guarded the pram, the most formidable guardian a newborn could have.
Rosie learned to hold Dawsons leash, wobbling and cautious as she took her first steps. The old dog, now thirteen, moved slowly, barely lifting his ears when the babys cries pierced the quiet.
Granddad seemed rejuvenated, driving the little one around with genuine pleasure, rarely leaving the house except for the occasional outing with Billy.
Billy would fetch Ians groceries by the curb, while faithful Dawson settled at the foot of the porch steps.
Ian, Im popping into the shop, alright? Rosie is sleeping, shell be down for a few minutes. Ill be back quickly.
Go on, Kira, dont worry, everything will be fine. Ian smiled. Rosie and I will manage. Billy will be here soon.
I wanted to call Billy, ask him to swing by the shop, but his phones off. Were out of milk and the nappies are finished.
Kira, dont lecture me. Youre worrying too much. Go calmly, dont rush.
Kira hurried off. Ian sat on the sofa, dimmed the TV so Rosie wouldnt wake, and suddenly felt a sharp chest pain, breath fleeing. He tried to rise, but collapsed backward, his hands sliding across the floor. His medication lay on the table. His vision darkened
Dawson barked, leapt onto the sofa, licked Ians face and hands.
Rosie, half awake, began to whimper. The dog bolted into the adjoining room, the baby giggling at the sight.
Dawson returned to the sofa. The owner lay motionless. The old dog gave a short, puzzled bark, stared at the scene, then lunged toward the front door, pushing it open with his nose.
Margarita Sergeyevna was in the kitchen when she heard a knock at the door. She listened, then the door burst open. Dawsons heavy breathing filled the hallway.
Whats wrong, Dawson? a neighbour called, hurrying with the dog. The door was ajar.
Kira! she shouted.
From the living room came Rosies cries. Seeing Ian on the floor, Margarita gasped, rushed to him. Dawson scrambled back into the hallway.
Billy, did you like her? Granddad asked as Billy came back.
Kira? Yes, shes sweet and eager to help.
I feel shes a good person. Youll get along.
Kira arrived as promised. Billy, if home, would see her off. He carried his bag and the dog, the old Staffordshire trailing behind.
All set, Granddad, Mums helped us out. Hans helped! Well all live together now.
Dawson gave a satisfied grunt, settling at his usual spot by the television.
Billy, Granddads voice crackled over the line, sounding faint, something feels wrong with me. My hearts heavy. How much longer?
Oh, Granddad, why didnt you call sooner! Im on my way!
Ian sped home after work, his car skidding to a halt as the ambulance already waited. He sat beside Granddads bedside.
Thank you, Margaret Sergeant, for looking after him. Im on my own now.
Together with Dawson, the black staffie, they helped the paramedics open the door for the ambulance crew.
Dont be scared, a young nurse with a bright smile said, holding the curious dogs leash, Dawsons gentle, he wont bite.
Im not scared, the nurse replied, stepping past the doctor. He just looks fierce.
Its serious, lad, Ian observed, watching the doctors movements. Heart trouble, sudden, not something that just appeared. I gave an injection, now Ill write the prescription and recommend IVs. Could someone do home care?
No, Billy whispered, weve got no one.
I wouldnt recommend sending you to the hospital either, the doctor said, glancing at his assistant, Kira. Perhaps you could come over?
Ill pay, Billy said, nervous, eyeing Kira. Im a university student and I work parttime.
Im not worried, Kira smiled. Ill come as long as the dog doesnt eat me.
She settled on Dawsons couch, the dog lounging lazily, then gave him a playful wink. Dawson stuck out his tongue, tilted his head, and stared fondly at Kira.
Not a bite! Of course not! Billy blurted. Alright, Ms. Kira, Ill fetch everything we need. Ill leave the key for you.
Ill call tomorrow, Ms. Kira, not Mrs. Al she corrected herself with a chuckle. See you soon.
Billy dashed to the pharmacy, poured tea for Granddad, then headed out for a walk with Dawson.
Did you like her? Granddad asked as Billy returned.
Kira? Yeah, shes sympathetic. She offered to help.
Shes a good person, Billy, youll get along.
Kira visited Ian regularly, as promised. Billy, when home, would escort her, the dog and himself, no longer fearing the dogs fierce look. Their outings grew longer, more frequent, and they spent most of their time together.
A year later a baby girl, Rosie, was born. Dawson, now a proud dad, met Kira at the hospital and never left the childs side. He swapped his favourite spot by the TV for the nursery, sleeping beside the cot, growling protectively whenever Rosie stirred, sniffing her tiny fingers. On walks he guarded the pram, the most formidable guardian a newborn could have.
Rosie learned to hold Dawsons leash, wobbling and cautious as she took her first steps. The old dog, now thirteen, moved slowly, barely lifting his ears when the babys cries pierced the quiet.
Granddad seemed rejuvenated, driving the little one around with genuine pleasure, rarely leaving the house except for the occasional outing with Billy.
Billy would fetch Ians groceries by the curb, while faithful Dawson settled at the foot of the porch steps.
Ian, Im popping into the shop, alright? Rosie is sleeping, shell be down for a few minutes. Ill be back quickly. Ill even bring the key back.
Go on, Kira, dont worry, everything will be fine. Ian smiled. Rosie and I will manage. Billy will be here soon.
I wanted to call Billy, ask him to swing by the shop, but his phones off. Were out of milk and the nappies are finished.
Kira, dont lecture me. Youre worrying too much. Go calmly, dont rush.
Kira hurried off. Ian sat on the sofa, dimmed the TV so Rosie wouldnt wake, and suddenly felt a sharp chest pain, breath fleeing. He tried to rise, but collapsed backward, his hands sliding across the floor. His medication lay on the table. His vision darkened
Dawson barked, leapt onto the sofa, licked Ians face and hands.
Rosie, half awake, began to whimper. The dog bolted into the adjoining room, the baby giggling at the sight.
Dawson returned to the sofa. The owner lay motionless. The old dog gave a short, puzzled bark, stared at the scene, then lunged toward the front door, pushing it open with his nose.
Margarita Sergeyevna was in the kitchen when she heard a knock at the door. She listened, then the door burst open. Dawsons heavy breathing filled the hallway.
Whats wrong, Dawson? a neighbour called, hurrying with the dog. The door was ajar.
As the first light of dawn washed over the garden, the trembling family huddled together around Dawson, each heart steadied by the quiet promise that love, in its stubborn resilience, would see them through every dark hour.
