Edward'S P.O.V
I'm halfway along the street and halfway through my packet of hot chips I had picked up from the fast food place around the corner, when a small, scruffy dog appears at my heels looking up at me with liquid black-brown eyes.
He's a grubby brown colour with a white patch shaped like a star over his left eye, like a small pirate, with a filthy, worn black leather collar tied around his neck. He's after my chips.
"hey buddy" I say, offering the dog one perfect, golden chip. He leaps up and takes it from my fingers, fast and gracefully, and I swear I can see him smiling.
I like dogs. Used to have once. A long time ago, now. This dog is smaller, smoother and much, much dirtier. He looks like he hasn't eaten in about a week, so I feed him chip after chip as we –I walked along and he followed me. Then all the chips are finished.
And the dogs grin slips. He looks crestfallen.
"no more" I explain, scrunching the greasy paper into a ball and chucking it at the nearest bin.
I miss. The scrunched-up chip paper lands in the gutter, and a gust of wind steers it out onto the road. Like a flash, the dog is after it, ducking between a couple of slow moving cars.
"NO!" I shout. "Come back! Here, boy"
Time slows down, the way it sometimes does in dreams or on TV. The dog is in the middle of the road. A motorcyclist brakes and swerves to avoid him. My heart thumps, and I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle, the way my dad taught me once, a long, ear-splitting call and surprisingly loud.
A girl passing by on a bicycle turns to look at me, her hair flying out behind her in Brown cork screw curls. Her startled eyes are Brown and slanted, like a Cat.
The next second she lands in a heap on the sidewalk in front of me, the bike beneath her. Under the spinning bicycle wheel, is the small dog….
Some days have disaster printed all over them, right from the start – quite a few of my days, actually. This one though, is an all time low.
I reach out and touch the dirty matted fur of the little pirate dog.
Beneath my palm I feel the faint quiver of a heartbeat. The dog gives a dramatic sigh and his eyes flutter open. I take a deep breath in, week with relief.
"I am so, sooo sorry!" the bicycle girl is saying. "You totally just spooked me with that whistle. I took my eyes off the road for, like one second, and the next thing….." A big, fat salty tear slids down her rosy cheek and I have the urge to comfort her.
"its okay" I tell her. "Please, don't cry. He's alive, see?"
Her Bright, brown cat-like eyes connect with mine for a moment. She looks younger Now than I originally thought, and less confident, wiping her eyes on the back of a black blazer sleeve and smudging her eyeliner.
A small crowd has gathered around us. We are blocking the pavement, a fallen bike, a brown-eyed girl, a dog that looks like its at deaths door, and me.
People lean around us, helping the girl too her feet, checking the bike over
"Are you All right Love?" a old women in a wheelchair asks the girl. "Not Hurt, Are you?"
"I'm fine" The girl says shakily. "But the little puppy…."
"A stray by the look of him" says the lady in the wheel chair.
"Better phone the council" someone else suggests "They'll take him away, put him out of his misery…"
"Out of his misery?" the girl splutters. "You Can't!"
They can though. They're people in a hurry, on their way back from big shot jobs or busy shopping trips, on their way home to perfect little families. They don't have time for this. I keep my palm against the warm, grubby brown fur of the little dog, just above his heart. It keeps beating very slowly.
"Look, he's not a stray" I say calmly "he's mine. So if you could all just mind your own business…."
"Well" the crowd around us take a tiny step back. One by one, they edge off along the street, muttering about ungrateful kids and dangerous flea-bitten mongrels.
We've been abandoned.
The girl looks furious "What's wrong with people?" she howls. "Don't they care?"
"Not really." I take off my hoodie, wrap the injured dog in it and stand carefully, holding the bundle close. "So What? I don't need them." I stride off along the pavement, and the girl grabs her bike and follows, weaving in and out of the passing shoppers.
Great. A posh girl in a scary uniform trailing along behind me.
I look down at the face of the little dog, pressed flat against my chest. His eyes are closed again, his smile fixed and rigid. His heart beat is steady beneath my hand, but still, I walk a little faster.
"Where are you going, anyway?" the girl asks. "If your looking for the nearest vet, you missed the turning. It was just back there."
I stop abruptly, frowning. She's right – I have no idea where I'm going. "OK. Sorry." I try for a smile. "show me please?"
The girl wheels around and turns down to the right, and I follow.
"Is he really your Dog? "she wants to know. "I though he was a stray too."
I sigh. "He's mine now, anyway. Someone has to look out for him"
"He could be lost, though" she points out. "Someone could be looking for him wondering if he's OK."
I hold the dog tighter. I don't think there's anyone out there worrying about him, somehow. He's small and skinny and sad, like a ghost dog. He looks like he lives on the streets, getting by on his wits, chasing chip papers, stealing scraps. He doesn't look loved
"What are you going to call him?" the girl asks "he needs a name"
"I'll think of one" I say.
"How about chip? She offers. "Or patch or scruffy? Hey, I don't even know your name, do i?, Mine's Bella"
"Edward"
sooooo? what'd you think?