Tim pushed open the front door and slipped into the flat. He didnt shout the usual Mum, Im home! Verity, his mother, found it odd that he didnt shed his boots or shake off his winter jacketno clatter on the floor, no rustle of fabric, no mumbling about school.
Tim, is that you? Ive bought the herring, the potatoes are almost done, dinner will be ready soon, she called.
Silence.
Tim?
Verity snatched a kitchen towel, dried her damp hands and stepped into the hallway. At a glance she knew something was wrong. Her son stood there, slumped, looking unlike himself. He lifted his eyes to her with a trust that made her heart throbso much pain in that glance. She grabbed his collar and stared him down.
Did you get into a fight? Were you beaten?
Mmum Mum Its
He winced, fighting back tears.
Speak up, love, dont be shy!
Mum, theres a dog in the binroom. Its hurt. The binroom isnt a normal one, its like a hole under the building. I tried to help, but it growled. It cant get up, Mum, and its freezing out there. The rubbish is piled on top of it.
Verity exhaled a little reliefher son was safe.
Where is it? Near our house?
No, down the other street, on the way to school. Can we go? It needs help!
Did any grownups know about it?
I asked. No one wanted to. Everyone just brushed me off, Tim mumbled, eyes down.
Listen, Timothy. Its late and dark. Take off your coat, get your jacket off. Maybe the dog is just tired and taking a nap?
No, it cant stand.
You probably imagined it in the gloom. Lets wait until morning. If its still there, well think of somethingcall the fire service or the police. Okay? Your hands are freezing, get undressed quickly!
Tim reluctantly unbuttoned his coat.
Mum, what if it freezes solid before morning?
Its a dog, Tim, probably a stray used to the street. Its got a coat of its own. Nothing will happen to it.
Torn by doubt, Timothy stripped down and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands. He held his chilled palms under hot water, but his mind kept replaying the frightened, desperate eyes of that dog in the dark hole beneath the bin shaft, the little stray with gingertinged cheeks. How long had it been lying there? Why couldnt it get up? The memory made his stomach churn.
That evening, after dumping their school bags, Tim and his friend headed out for a walk. It was unusually warm for Manchester, yet a bite of frost lingered and the snow refused to melt. They didnt want to go home, so they sledded down a hill on makeshift sleds, pretending to be snowboarders. What made them veer off the pavement onto a narrow, trampled path along the back of a block? And why did Tim suddenly turn his head and spot a pair of glinting eyes in the binrooms drain? At first he thought it was a cat.
They approached, leaned over a dog.
Hold my legs, Ill try to pull it out! Tim spread himself at the entrance of the drain and reached down, but the animal growled.
Forget it, lets go home. Its sleeping there, his friend said.
Come on, pup! Come to me! Toottoot, toottoot! Tim called, but the dog stayed still. Come here, Ill help you! he coaxed, wiggling his way into the shaft. The dog snapped back.
Tim switched on his phones flashlight and shone it down. The dog was covered in bruises, a large wound gaped on its hind leg. How could anyone leave such a creature in trouble?
For the next half hour, the elevenyearold begged passing men to help the dog, tears threatening to spill. Young lads, older blokes, pensionersall brushed him off. Even his friend walked away, hungry and late for dinner. Strangers muttered, Whats it to you? Let it be; itll get out when it wants.
The next morning Tim leapt out of bed far earlier than usual and found his mother, already dressed, lingering by the front door. Verity worked at a nursery and had to be at the school by seven.
Check on him, will you? Im sure hell wander off, and youre worrying for nothing. Hes probably just a bit tired, didnt get enough sleep, right?
Tim sighed, pulled himself together and headed out. In the stairwell he glanced at the corner under the stairs a year ago hed discovered a box of four kittens there, nursed them from fleas and found new homes. Their house now had two cats and a dog, the first cat Verity had taken in as a baby; the rest theyd rescued on the street. In summer hed found a dead pigeon and buried it in the park. If an elderly lady struggled with grocery bags, Tim was first on the scene; if a frail man needed help crossing the busy road, Tim was there, never turning his back, never expecting anyone else to act. Hed even stopped to ask downandout blokes under a bench whether they were genuinely ill or just drunk, because you never know who might truly need help.
That dawn Tim raced to the binroom drain, hoping the dog had somehow escaped. It was still there, shivering. His heart broke. Mum, Im sending you a video, look. We have to do something; we cant just leave it.
Veritys first thought was to call the fire service. She promised Tim shed phone right away and sort everything out, telling him to get to school, that there was nothing he could do.
The fire service said they didnt handle animal rescues and suggested he contact the councils wastemanagement team. That call led nowhere. At every break Tim rang again, Hello? Any news?
Later that day Verity dialled her friend Nell. I dont know what to do, she said. Nell thought of the local animal shelter. She found the contact details for PawsandHope and called them. Volunteers arrived at the address within the hour. Tim had slipped out of his last lesson to keep the dog company, hoping at least one passerby would show compassion.
Theyre here! Tim shouted as the volunteers descended.
A young woman lowered a blanket into the drain, the others holding her legs steady. The dog whined, unable to bark. Lifting it was a struggle; the animal was stuck to the metal grate, having urinated on itself in the cold.
Poor thing, a volunteer stroked its head, look at you, all skinny! They wrapped it in the blanket and set it on the ground to catch its breath. Tim paced back and forth, worrying about what would happen next.
Look at her, hero! one volunteer said, smiling at Tim. You saved her.
Its nothing special, Tim replied. What now? Shes hurt, probably bitten by other dogs.
Well take her to a clinic and start treatment, another said.
The wound was serious, and the dog was badly chilled. After a while the shelter took it in, and Tim and Verity agreed to foster it temporarily. Verity fretted about adding another animal to their small household, but they managed.
The story of Tims rescue made the local papers. Reporters asked Tim if he considered himself a hero.
Its just what a decent person does, he said. Theres nothing heroic about it. People have become so indifferent that even a small act of kindness feels extraordinary. It makes me sad, really. I did something ordinary, and it turned out to be noble. Can you imagine how cruel our world has become?
What would you change about it? the journalist asked.
Id like people to be kinder.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
A dog trainer, maybe. I want to volunteer, help animals and the elderly. I feel sorry for lonely old folks; I want to be a friend to them.
Hows Jack doing? Thats the name you gave the dog, right?
Jacks staying with us now. Come on, Jack! Lets show Uncle what tricks weve learned. The fluffy, scruffy dog bounded over, wagging his tail.
Sit, Jack! Lie down! Crawl, my good boy, crawl! Tim cheered, laughing.
Tim is a boy with a tender heart. A wounded heart never rests, and as long as theres suffering, cruelty, and neglect, there will be creatures needing a helping hand. Until more people have hearts like Tims, the world will keep bruises. One day, kindness will reign, and well all be a little happier. Until then, a big hug to you all, dear readers. I love you.
(Photograph: Timothy from Manchester with his dog Jack.)
