I couldnt just leave him, Mum, whispered Toby. Do you understand? I couldnt.
Toby was fourteen, and it felt as if the whole world misunderstood him. Or, to be precise, refused to understand him.
There goes that troublemaker again! muttered Mrs. Brown from number 12, hurriedly switching sides of the street. Single mother, you see. Thats what comes of it!
Toby walked on, hands sunk deep into the frayed pockets of his jeans, pretending not to hear. But he did.
Mum was always working late. On the kitchen table: a noteMeat pies in the fridge, heat them up. And silence. Always silence.
Now he trudged home from school, where yet again the teachers had had a word about his behaviour. It wasn’t as if he was unaware that he’d become a problem for everyone. He understood. But what difference did it make?
Hey, lad! called out Mr. Fletcher from the ground floor flat. Seen that lame dog round here? Ought to chase him off.
Toby stopped and looked closer.
By the bins lay a dognot a puppy, a full-grown one, ginger spotted with white. He didnt move, only his eyes followed the passers-by. Clever eyes. Sad eyes.
Will no one shoo him away? agreed Mrs. Brown, lips tight. Must be sick!
Toby stepped closer. The dog didnt flinch; only his tail tapped weakly. On one hind leg: a raw wound, blood dark and crusted.
Why are you just standing there? snapped Mr. Fletcher. Get a stick and shift him!
And something inside Toby snapped.
Just you try to touch him! Toby shouted, planting himself squarely before the dog. Hes not hurting anyone!
Well, I never, Mr. Fletcher blinked. Our own little defender.
I will defend him, Toby insisted, crouching next to the dog, stretching out his hand. The dog sniffed his fingers, then licked his palm.
Something warm bloomed in Tobys chest. For the first time in ages someone trusted him.
Come on, he murmured to the dog, Come home with me.
At home, Toby made the dog a bed out of old jackets in the corner of his room. Mum wouldnt be back till evening, so thered be no shouting, no filthy animals tossed out.
The wound looked bad. Toby pulled up a webpage on animal first aid. He grimaced at the medical words but read every line carefully and tried to remember.
Need to clean it with antiseptic, he mumbled, rooting in the bathroom cupboard. Bit of iodine on the edges, gently, so it doesnt sting.
The dog lay still, quietly offered his hurt leg. Toby caught a thankful lookone he hadnt seen from anyone in years.
Whats your name, then? Toby bandaged the leg. Youre ginger. Maybe Patch?
The dog barked softly, as if in agreement.
That evening, Mum came home. Toby braced for shouting, but instead she looked Patch over silently, pressing gently at the bandaged leg.
You did this yourself? she asked quietly.
I did. Found instructions online.
How will you feed him?
Ill figure something out.
For a long time she looked at Toby and then at the dog, who licked her hand, watching with gentle eyes.
Well take him to the vet tomorrow, she decided. See about that leg. Youve picked a name?
Patch, Toby said, beaming.
For the first time in months, the wall between them felt thin.
Next morning, Toby got up an hour early. Patch tried to stand, whined at the pain.
Easy, mate, Toby soothed him. Ill get water, and some food.
There was no dog food at homeso Toby gave Patch the last meat pie, soaked some bread in milk. Patch ate hungrily but carefully, licking every crumb.
At school, for the first time in ages, Toby did not snap at the teachers. His mind was elsewherehow was Patch managing alone, was he in pain, was he lonely?
Youre different today, said Miss Carter, his form teacher, surprised.
Toby only shrugged. He didnt want to talk about it. Theyd only laugh.
He bolted home after lessons, ignoring the neighbours stares. Patch greeted him with a squeaky barkhe could stand on three paws now.
Want a walk, friend? Toby fashioned a lead from an old rope. But carefulmind your leg.
Out in the square, something bizarre unfolded. Mrs. Brown nearly choked on her sunflower seeds.
Hes dragged it home! Toby! Are you mad?!
Whats the big deal? Toby replied steadily. Im helping him. Hell get better soon.
Helping?! Where do you get the money for medicine? Mrs. Brown snapped. Stealing from your mum?
Toby clenched his fists but held back. Patch pressed close as if he sensed the tension.
Im not stealing, Toby said quietly. Its my own pocket money. Saved from skipping breakfast.
Mr. Fletcher shook his head.
Do you realise this is a living soul? Not a toy. You need to feed him, care for him, walk him.
From then on, every morning began with a walk. Patch improved quicklyhe could even run, though with a slight limp. Toby taught him trickspatiently, hour after hour.
Sit! Good boy! Paw! Thats it!
Neighbours watched from afar. Some shook their heads, some smiled. But all Toby saw were Patchs devoted eyes.
He changednot overnight but gradually. Stopped being rude, tidied the house, even his marks improved. He had a purpose now. And it was just the beginning.
Three weeks later, Tobys worst fear came true.
He was coming back from an evening walk with Patch when a pack of rough strays burst from behind the garages. Five or sixhungry, with eyes glowing in the dusk. Their leader, a huge black brute, bared his teeth and advanced.
Patch retreated behind Toby, tense and trembling, unable to run with his bad leg. The pack sensed weakness.
Back off! Toby shouted, swinging the makeshift lead. Clear off!
But the pack only circled, the black dog growling, poised to leap.
Toby! came a womans cry from above. Run, leave the dog and run!
It was Mrs. Brown at her open window. Others peered out behind her.
Dont be a hero, lad! shouted Mr. Fletcher. Its lame, wont get away!
Toby glanced at Patch. Patch trembled, but stayed putpressed to Tobys leg, ready for anything.
The black dog leapt. Toby shielded himself, but his shoulder was hitthe teeth tore his coat and grazed his skin.
Patch, despite the pain, launched himself at the ringleader, grabbed its leg with all his strength.
A brawl erupted. Toby kicked and swatted, trying to shield Patch from the snapping jaws. He took bites and scratches, but never backed away.
Heavens, whats happening? wailed Mrs. Brown. Fletcher, do something!
Mr. Fletcher grabbed whatever came to handa stick, a bit of metaland rushed outside.
Hold on, lad! he yelled. Im coming!
Toby was going down under the pack when a familiar voice rang out:
Get off!
It was Mum, bursting from the hallway with a bucket of water, dousing the dogs. The pack scattered.
Fletchergive a hand! she called.
Mr. Fletcher battered the ground with his stick; more neighbours came out. The strays, realising they were outnumbered, ran for it.
Toby lay on the pavement, clutching Patch. Both bleeding, both shaking. But alive. Safe.
Son, Mum knelt beside them, inspecting the wounds. You scared me half to death.
I couldnt leave him, Mum, Toby whispered. You understand? I couldnt.
I do, she replied gently.
Mrs. Brown came down, looking at Toby strangely, as if seeing him for the first time.
You could have got You risked your life. For a dog.
Its not about a dog, interjected Mr. Fletcher. Its a friend. Thats the difference, Mrs. Brown.
She nodded. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Lets get you home, said Mum. Need to clean those woundsboth of you.
Toby struggled upright and lifted Patch, who whimpered quietly, tail quivering with relief.
Wait, said Mr. Fletcher. Are you taking him to the vet tomorrow?
Yes.
Ill drive you. And Ill pay for the treatmenthes a bit of a hero.
Toby stared at him, amazed.
Thank you, Mr. Fletcher. But I can
No arguments. You can pay me back when youre able. For now He clapped Toby on the shoulder. Were all proud, arent we?
The neighbours nodded silently.
A month passed. A typical October evening. Toby walked home from the veterinary clinic, where he now volunteered at weekends. Patch trotted alongsidehis leg healed, limp nearly gone.
Toby! called Mrs. Brown. Wait a minute!
Toby hesitated, expecting scolding. But she handed him a bag of dog food.
For Patch, she stammered. Good stuff. Expensive. You take such care of him.
Thank you, Mrs. Brown, Toby said sincerely. But we have foodDr. Anne from the clinic pays me now.
Take it anyway. Youll need it someday.
At home, Mum was cooking dinner. Seeing Toby, she smiled.
How was the clinic? Is Dr. Anne pleased with you?
She says Ive got healers hands. Im patient. Maybe Ill really be a vetthinking seriously.
And school?
Fine. Even Mr. Peters says I focus nowphysics teacher.
Mum nodded, quietly proud. In the last month Toby had changedno more rudeness, always helping out, greeting the neighbours. Most of all, he had a dream. A goal.
You know, she said, Fletchers coming round tomorrow. Wants to offer you some extra workhis mates kennel needs a helper.
Toby brightened.
Really?! Can I bring Patch?
I think so. Hes almost a working dog now.
That evening, Toby sat outside with Patch, practising a new command: guard. Patch tried hard, eyes full of trust.
Mr. Fletcher joined him on the bench.
Early start for the kennels tomorrow, eh?
Yep. Me and Patch.
Best get an early night. Its a big day.
When Mr. Fletcher left, Toby lingered a bit longer, Patch resting his head on Tobys knees.
They had found each otherand they’d never be alone again.
