Good Dog

The first thought arrived while the dog was eating something under the hedge.

Please don't be a rat.

It was the woman's voice, although her mouth was shut. The dog looked up. She stood in the kitchen doorway holding a mug. Her mouth opened.

“Come here, you revolting creature.”

My beautiful boy.

He wagged at both.

The thing under the hedge was a sock. It had been a very good sock, full of rain and the old man's foot, but he abandoned it because the woman was now thinking about cheese.

This was the difficulty with the new hearing. Cheese did not necessarily follow cheese. Sometimes it followed cholesterol, which was a long dull sound with nothing at the end of it. Sometimes the woman thought about food while looking sadly at the wall. The wall did not give her any.

The old man thought in bursts. Keys. Then, after moving through several rooms: Keys. Then a long continuous noise at the dog, who had picked them up because the old man seemed to want them badly.

“Good dog,” the old man said.

Stupid bloody animal.

The dog put the keys down. They were wet now and therefore improved. The old man wiped them on his trousers.

Before the hearing, the boy had been straightforward. He came home smelling of bus seats and other boys, dropped his bag and lay on the floor. The dog lay on him. They stayed like that until someone complained.

Now the boy thought Get off while pulling the dog closer. He thought I hate it here while feeding him crusts under the table. Worst of all, he thought Dead when the dog slept too deeply, and prodded him awake.

The dog began sleeping under the old man's chair. The old man thought of keys even when he was not awake. This was restful.

On Friday the woman packed a bag. The dog heard Don't make a fuss and fetched his lead. She knelt to stroke him.

“I'm only going for two nights.”

I could stay.

He brought her a slipper.

I could just stay.

He brought the other one. She pressed her face into his neck, which made him sneeze. Then she left with both slippers in the bag.

All evening the boy stared at his phone. The dog could hear a girl speaking inside the boy's head. He ran to the front door twice before learning that she was not outside. The second time, the boy said, “There's nobody there,” in such an angry voice that the dog hid behind the sofa.

Sorry, the boy thought.

The dog stayed where he was. There had been no movement towards the biscuit tin.

Come back. Please.

From behind the sofa he could see the boy's bare heel. It lifted, settled, lifted. The phone shone on the ceiling. The old man came in, paused and went out again. Leave him be, he thought, though the dog was already leaving him very thoroughly be.

The boy slid from the sofa onto the floor.

That the dog understood. He came out and put his head across the boy's stomach. The boy's breathing moved him up and down. Thoughts came quickly now: the girl, a room full of boys, something about Monday, the girl again. The dog could not follow them. He was busy finding a place for his back legs.

“You're heavy,” said the boy.

The dog licked the underside of his chin. There was salt there, and a little of the cheese that had eventually happened at supper.

For a while the boy thought nothing the dog could hear. One hand moved steadily along his side. When it stopped, the dog nudged it back into motion.

In the kitchen, the old man opened a packet.

The dog raised his head. The boy's hand tightened, then let go.

“Traitor.”

The dog went to inspect the packet. It was tea. He returned at once and stood on the boy's stomach until the boy shifted enough to let him lie down.