I slipped the front door open and slipped inside the flat. I didnt announce the usual, Mum, Im home!Emma frowned at the quiet; there were no clacking boots on the floor, no rustle of my winter coat, no shuffling about.
Tom, is that you? Ive bought the herring, the potatoes are almost done, dinner will be ready soon.
Silence.
Tom?
Concerned, Emma grabbed a kitchen towel to dry her damp hands and stepped into the hallway. From the moment she saw me she knew something was wrong. I was slumped, looking halfasleep, my eyes glassy with pain. She clutched my collar and stared at me.
Did you get into a fight? Did someone beat you up?
MMum Mum Its
I tried to hold back tears.
Speak up, Tom, dont be afraid.
Mum, theres a dog in the bin tunnel. Its hurt. The tunnel isnt a normal bin, its a hole under the building. I tried to help, but it snarled. It cant stand up, Mum, and its cold out. Garbage is piled on top of it.
Emma exhaled a breath of relief that at least I was okay.
Where is it? Near our house?
No, on the other side of the road, on the way to school. Can we go? It needs help.
Did you ask any grownups?
I asked. Nobody wanted to. Everyone just brushed me off, I muttered, eyes downcast.
Listen, Tom. Its getting late and dark. Take off your coat, maybe the dog just needed a rest.
It cant get up.
Maybe you imagined it in the gloom. Lets wait until morning. If its still there well call the fire service or the police, okay? Your hands are freezing, get undressed quickly!
Reluctantly I unzipped my coat.
Mum, what if it freezes to death before morning?
Its a dog, Tom. Im sure its a stray, used to being outside. It has a thick coat. Nothing will happen to it.
Shivering, I stripped down and padded into the bathroom to wash my hands. I held my chilled palms under the hot tap, but the image of the frightened animal stuck with me: a scruffy, mixedbreed with reddish patches on its cheeks, stuck in a dark hole where the councils waste chute dumped rubbish. How long had it been there? Why couldnt it stand? I replayed the encounter over and over until my stomach turned.
That evening, after packing our backpacks, my mate Jake and I headed out for a walk. The weather was mild for Manchester, but a bite of frost lingered and the snow wouldnt melt. We didnt want to go home yet, so we sledged down a hill on makeshift sleds and pretended to be snowboarders. What made us cut across the back alley instead of the pavement? What drove me to glance into the gutter and see two glinting eyes? At first I thought it was a cat. Jake and I got closer and bent over a dog.
Hold my legs, Ill try to pull it out!
I sprawled at the edge of the opening and reached down, but the dog growled at me.
Forget it, lets go home. Its sleeping down there, Jake muttered.
Come here, boy! Come to me! Tttt! I cooed, but it didnt move. Come, Ill help you! I kept calling, while the dog whined.
I flicked on the torch on my phone and shone it down. The animal was covered in small bite marks, and its hind leg bore a deep wound. I couldnt just leave it there.
For the next half hour I begged passing men to help the dog, my voice trembling. Young lads, middleaged blokes, pensioners none stopped. Jake finally walked off, hungry and late for dinner. One by one they shrugged:
Why bother? Itll get out when it wants.
At dawn I rose earlier than usual and found Emma in the hallway, already dressed for work at the nursery. She was due at seven.
Check it, Tom. Im sure itll have run off by now. Youre probably just tired, didnt sleep, worried, eh?
I sighed, gathered my courage, and headed out. In the stairwell I glanced at the nook beneath the stairs a spot where, a year ago, Id rescued four kittens from a cardboard box. With Emma wed treated them for fleas, fed them, and found them loving homes. No abandoned animal ever left my heart untouched. At home we have two cats and a dog, and the first cat was rescued straight from a neighbours arms; the rest weve taken in from the street. One summer I found a dead pigeon and buried it under a park tree. If I saw an elderly lady struggling with her grocery bags, I was first to lend a hand; if an old man needed help crossing the busy road, I was there. I never turned away, never hoped others would be kind. I even stopped to ask men slumped on benches if they were ill or just drunk, because you never know when someone truly needs help.
That morning I raced to the waste chute, hoping the dog had escaped, that it had somehow managed to pull itself out. It was still there, shivering in the cold. My heart ached. How could it still be alive? I called Emma, sobbing, Mum, Ill send you a video. We have to do something, we cant just leave it.
Emmas first thought was to ring the fire and rescue service. She promised shed call and sort it out, while I should get to school. The fire service told us they didnt handle stray animals and suggested we contact the councils wastemanagement team. That call went nowhere. Throughout the day I kept phoning, asking for any update.
Hey, Nat, Im at my wits end, Emma said around lunchtime, dialing a friend. Tom found a dog, its
Her friend suggested calling the local RSPCA shelter. They found a number for the Elmwood Rescue Centre, and volunteers rushed to the address. Tom slipped out of his last lesson and ran to the spot, hoping his words could comfort the animal.
Hes here! Hes here! Tom shouted when the volunteers arrived.
A young woman lowered a blanket into the chute, the other volunteers holding her legs. The dog whined, unable to bark. Lifting it was hard the animal was stuck to the metal grate, having urinated in the cold and frozen to it.
Poor thing, a volunteer whispered, patting its head. Look at those bones!
They wrapped the dog in the blanket and placed it on the ground to warm up. Tom paced back and forth, his mind racing. What now? Who will look after it?
Look at her, Tom. Shes yours now. You saved her.
The wounds are serious. Likely other dogs attacked her.
Well take her to the clinic, get her treated.
The injury on the leg was deep and the dog was badly chilled. After a few days at the rescue centre, the staff transferred her to a foster home, and Emma and I agreed to take her in temporarily. I was terrified we couldnt manage another pet, since it was just the two of us.
The story of my rescue made the local newspaper, and journalists wanted an interview, but I didnt feel like a hero.
Its just what anyone with a conscience would do, I told them. Theres nothing heroic about it. People have become so indifferent that even a small act of kindness feels extraordinary. It makes me sad how cruel our world can be.
What would you change about the world? a reporter asked.
Id like people to be kinder.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
I want to be a canine handler, work with dogs, and volunteer. Im still small, so I dont get taken on yet, but I want to help animals and elderly people. I feel sorry for lonely pensioners; I want to be a friend to them.
Hows she doing now? What did you name her?
We kept her, called her Bella. Bella! Come here, boy! well show Uncle what tricks weve learned.
Bella trotted over at the sound of her name, wagging her tail.
Sit, Bella! Lie down! Crawl, my good girl I praised her, laughing.
Im a boy with a wounded heart, because a heart that hurts never rests. As long as suffering exists, as long as cruelty and indifference linger, as long as creatures fall into trouble and only a few reach out, hearts like mine will stay scarred. I hope more people will have wounded hearts, that well all walk through life with empathy, and that one day kindness will rule the earth. Until then, I send you all a big hug, dear readers. I love you, and Ill keep holding you close.
Tom Bradley from Manchester and his dog Bella.
