Chapter Six: Hope
"You stupid little girl! What do you think you're doing? Get out of my way! I am not going to be picking those fleas off you!"
"Mummy, no! He's a sweetums and he doesn't have feas," she declared crossly.
I felt a surge of gratitude toward my saviour. Was this my ticket to a bath, warmth and food?
" That thing is a filthy mongrel. It needs to be put down for the good of the country." The woman's voice had calmed down now. Calmed to the temperature of the glaciers at either end of the globe. Probably about that safe, too. I whimpered. Man, was I becoming a sissy lately!
"Shane? What's going on?" A male voice carried out from the open doorway. A middle aged man stepped out. He was wearing fishing shorts and a light green polo shirt.
"Where's this one come from?" The man stepped forward.
The woman – Shane? – lowered her sword- broom ,even. My ears pricked up hopefully.
"This filthy mutt must've gotten through the fence you still haven't fixed. I was trying to get rid of it, but your daughter" – the loathing in her voice at this point was horrifying – "won't get out the way." Her voice was deadly sweet, with traces of nails-down-the-blackboard tones that sent chills down my spine, to the very tip of my tail, causing it to curl tightly between my legs. I stared at him imploringly, willing him to believe I was just a lovable stray.
The man opened his mouth to speak, but – "She hurt my sweetums! She hit him! She hurt his face!" She pointed accusingly at the mother as she spoke, then turned quickly, grabbing my face. I didn't have time to register what was going on before she brought my face round for inspection.
The man – her dad, I guessed – studied my face, then his eyes travelled up and down my back and legs. His gaze lingered on the bits of crap littering my fur, the jagged ends of my claws. I pined, hoping I sounded as pathetic as I felt. Then he smiled.