I just couldnt leave him, Mum, whispered Michael. You get it, dont you? I just couldnt.
He was fourteen, stuck in that awkward bit where it feels like the whole worlds against you. Well, maybe not against, but definitely not trying to understand you.
Here he comes, the troublemaker again! muttered Mrs. Clarke from number 17, dodging across the close to avoid him. Raised just by a mother, you know. There you have it!
Michael trudged past, hands jammed into the pockets of his battered jeans, pretending not to hearbut of course he did.
His mum was at workagain. Late shift. The only thing waiting on the kitchen table was a Post-it: Sausages in the fridge. Nuke them if you want. x Mum. And the house? Quiet as ever. It was always quiet.
Hed just come from school, where yet another chat about his behaviour was had. As if he wasnt painfully aware he was now everyones headache. He got it. But what was he supposed to do?
Oi, lad! It was Mr. Victor, the neighbour from number 3. Seen that limping dog? Someone needs to chase it off.
Michael stopped, peered down by the bins.
There it wasa dog, not a puppy but a proper, grown-up mutt, the kind of ginger and white you only ever see in rescue adverts. Lying so still, only the eyes moving, watching people. Eyes that looked smartand kind of sad.
Someone get rid of it! agreed Mrs. Clarke, rolling her eyes. Probably got something nasty.
Michael went nearer. The dog didnt flinch, just wagged its tail feebly. On one back leg, there was a messy wound, dried blood.
What are you standing for? snapped Mr. Victor. Grab a stick and shoo it off!
Something snapped inside Michael.
Just you try and touch him! he burst out, moving in front of the dog. Hes not done anything wrong!
Well I never, Mr. Victor raised a brow. Weve got a little hero, then.
Ill protect him, yeah! said Michael, squatting by the mutt. He stretched out a hand gently; the dog sniffed his fingers, then gave his palm a little lick.
A warm feeling spread through Michaels chest. For the first time in ages, someone was nice to him.
Come on, then, he murmured. Come with me.
He made a bed for the dog out of old jackets in the corner of his room. His mum wouldnt be home till latemeaning no one to yell about bringing trouble into the house.
The wound looked bad. Michael scrolled through Google, reading up on how to help injured pets, scrunching up his face at all the medical jargon but making sure not to miss a step.
Right, peroxide to clean it he muttered, rummaging in their medicine drawer. Bit of iodine on the edges, careful though, no pain.
The dog was calm, trusting, offering his hurt paw. Looked at Michael like no one had for a long time.
Whats your name, then? Michael asked as he wrapped the leg. Ginger? Should I call you Ginger?
A soft bark camealmost as if he agreed.
In the evening, Mum came in. Michael braced for trouble but his mum just looked at Ginger, checked the bandage.
You did this? she asked quietly.
Yeah. Found the instructions online.
What are you going to feed him?
Ill sort it, Michael replied.
His mum gave him a long look. Then at the dog, who licked her hand, trusting.
Vet tomorrow, she said at last. Well see about that leg. Got a name?
Ginger, Michael replied, beaming.
For the first time in months, the wall between them started to crumble.
The next morning, Michael got up an hour early. Ginger tried to follow, whimpering in pain.
Easy, mate, Michael soothed. Ill get water, and something to eat.
No dog food in the house, of course. So the last sausage went to Ginger, with bread soaked in milk. Ginger wolfed it down hungrily but took care, licking up every last crumb.
At school, for once, Michael didnt snark at his teachers. He could only think about Ginger. Was he okay? Was he hurting? Lonely?
Youre different today, his form tutor noticed.
Michael just shrugged. No way he was telling herthe others would only take the mick.
After class, he raced home, ignoring the neighbours looks. Ginger greeted him with excited yelpsstanding on three legs already.
Want a walk, mate? Michael fixed up a makeshift lead with some cord. Careful, though; mind your leg.
Back out in the close, Mrs. Clarke nearly choked on her sunflower seeds.
Hes dragged that mutt inside! Michael! Are you off your rocker?
Whats wrong with that? he answered calmly. Im taking care of him. Hell be fine soon.
Taking care? Whered you get the money for medicine, then? neighbours pressed. Nicking off your mum?
Michael clenched his fists but kept calm. Ginger pressed against his leg, picking up on the tension.
Im not stealing. Used my own money. Saved from school lunches, Michael muttered.
Mr. Victor shook his head.
Son, you do get this is a living soul, dont you? Not a toy. You need to feed him, walk him, look after him.
Now, every day started with a walk. Ginger bounced back quickly, running around with only a slight limp. Michael taught him trickspatiently, for hours.
Sit, good boy Pawyeah, thats it!
Neighbours watched from a distance. Some shook heads, others smiled a little. But Michael only ever saw Gingers grateful eyes.
He changed. Not all at once, but a little more every day. Stopped answering back, started helping at home, even his grades picked up. Suddenly, he had a goal. And it was just the start.
Three weeks passed before Michaels biggest fear happened.
He was walking Ginger near the garages when a pack of strays charged out. Five or sixmean, hungry, eyes glowing. A massive black dog led them, teeth bared.
Ginger instinctively shrank behind Michael. Still sore, couldnt run, and the pack could smell weakness.
Back off! Michael yelled, swinging the cord. Go on, clear off!
But the pack circled closer. The leader growled louder, ready to leap.
Michael! a womans voice screamed from above. Run! Ditch the dog and leg it!
Mrs. Clarke, leaning out her window again. Other neighbours faces clustered behind her.
Dont be stupid, lad! Mr. Victor shouted. Hes limping. He wont outrun them!
Michael glanced at Ginger. He was trembling but wouldnt budge, pressing against his human, refusing to leave him.
The black dog lunged first. Michael tried shielding himself but got bitten on the shouldersharp teeth punched through his jacket and skin.
But then, even hurt and terrified, Ginger sprang into action. He latched onto the leaders leg with his jaws, hung on for dear life.
It was chaos. Michael kicked and swung, trying to shield Ginger. He took bites and scratches, but didnt back down.
Heavens above! shrieked Mrs. Clarke. Victordo something!
Mr. Victor scrambled downstairs, grabbing whatever could serve as a weapon.
Hold on, lad! he bellowed. Im coming!
Just as Michael started to collapse under the pack, another voice rang out:
Get away from my son!
His mum came flying out the door with a bucket of water, dousing the dogs. The pack yelped, jumping back.
Victorhelp! she shouted.
He rushed in waving a stick, and other neighbours spilled from their flats. The strays realised they were outnumbered and scarpered.
Michael lay on the pavement, clutching Ginger. Both bleeding, both shakingbut alive. In one piece.
Love, his mum knelt beside him, carefully checking his cuts. You scared me out of my wits.
I couldnt leave him, Mum, Michael whispered. Do you understand? I just couldnt.
I do, she said softly.
Mrs. Clarke came down, oddly quiet. She looked at Michael as if seeing him for the first time.
Boy, you couldve because of a dog.
Not because of a dog, interrupted Mr. Victor. He did it for his friend. Thats the difference, Mrs. Clarke.
She nodded quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Come on, lets go inside, said his mum. We need to clean those wounds. Ginger too.
Michael got up, hoisted Ginger in his arms. Ginger whimpered, his tail barely waggingrelieved to be with his person.
Hold on, Mr. Victor stopped them. You going to the vet tomorrow?
Yes, said Mum.
Ill drive you. And pay for the treatmenthes a heroic dog, after all.
Michael stared.
Thanks, Mr. Victor. But I can manage.
No arguments. Pay me back when you can. For now He clapped Michael on the shoulder. Were proud of you, you know. Arent we, everyone?
Neighbours nodded, for once united.
A month passed. Just an ordinary October evening, and Michael was heading back from the animal clinic, where he now spent weekends helping out. Ginger pelted beside himthe limp nearly gone.
Michael! Mrs. Clarke called from her garden gate. Fancy seeing you!
He tensed for a telling-off. But she handed him a bag of dog food.
For Gingergood stuff, expensive. You do look after him.
Thank you, Mrs. Clarke, Michael grinned. But Ive got food now. Im earning a bit helping outDr. Anna pays me.
Take it anyway. Might need it down the line.
At home, Mum was sorting dinner. She smiled when she saw Michael.
Hows the clinic? Dr. Anna happy with you?
Said Ive got the knack, and patience too. Im thinking about being a vetseriously.
And school?
Fine. Even Mr. Patrick from physics says Ive improved. Says Im more switched on now.
Mum nodded. This past month, her son had changedeven the neighbours noticed. He was kinder, helped out, had started to dream again.
You know, she said, Victors coming over tomorrow. He wants to offer you more work. His mates got a dog shelter, needs a helper.
Michael lit up.
Really? Could I bring Ginger?
Of course. Hes nearly an official working dog now!
That night, Michael sat outside with Ginger, practising new commands. Guard, he said. Ginger took it seriously, eyes locked on Michael.
Mr. Victor joined them on the bench.
You sure youre up for the shelter tomorrow?
Definitelywith Ginger.
Better get your head down earlybig day ahead.
After Victor left, Michael stayed outside a bit longer. Ginger laid his head on Michaels knees, sighing contentedly.
Theyd found each other. And theyd never be lonely again.
