I had already made up my mind, Mum, so dont start afresh. Charlie stared stubbornly out of the window.
You’re just a traitor!
What? Me?! the lad gasped, incredulous. A traitor?! He snapped upright, bolted from the room, slammed the door shut, and pressed his face into the pillow, drifting back into memory.
It was summer, and Charlie had just turned eight. For his birthday his father gave him a splendid trick bicycle, the very one hed dreamed of. He spent whole days racing the other boys down the lane and almost forgot that his dads birthday was also approaching. A reminder came from Granddad.
Charlie, have you prepared a gift for your papa yet?
No, the grandson replied, crestfallen. Granddad, what could I possibly give him?
Well, if you dont mind, I can help. Well make something together.
For two weeks Charlie and Granddad toiled on a present a handcarved wooden keyholder. They whittled, burnt, sanded, and screwed on tiny polished hooks. Charlie worked side by side with Granddad, and for a spell he even forgot about his new bicycle.
On his fathers birthday the old man was in a jolly mood, accepting congratulations with a grin and praising Charlies handiwork. He embraced and kissed Granddad. Mum presented her husband with a particularly fashionable overcoat, and he joked that if he hadnt such a remarkable wife, he might even marry the coat itself. Mum, halflaughing, swatted him with a towel, claiming no whitehaired man had ever seen such a sight.
When they were seated at the festive table in the cottages garden, Dad suddenly announced:
Now, dear ones, pardon me, but I, too, have made a present for myself. Ive finally fulfilled a childhood dream.
He hurried to the workshop, returned with a wicker basket, and opened it to reveal a sleepy, thickbodied black puppy.
Meet Dawson.
Mum, looking at Dad with a hint of reproach, managed only: Well, dear, youve outdone yourself!
Dad beamed with a childlike smile, crinkling his nose at the pup, his heart swelling with affection. Charlie felt a surge of triumph.
Soon enough Dawson won everyones heart. The little Staffordshire Bull Terrier grew rapidly, becoming a powerful, broadchested dog with a surprisingly calm yet optimistic temperament. He adored Dad above all, as if he knew that his father was the most important figure in his canine world. He loved the rest of the family too, romping with Charlie in tag, lounging lazily by Mum at the kitchen table while she cooked, joining Granddad when they went for walks, and watching television. For Dad he would have walked through fire and water, once even rescuing him from a serious mishap.
One evening, as was his habit, Dad took Dawson for a stroll in the old park by the house. It was late, the lanes were empty, and, uncharacteristically, he let the dog off the leash. Dawson slipped into the nearby bushes for his own canine business while Dad ambled slowly down the path, humming now and then to keep the dog from wandering too far.
Lost in his thoughts, he didnt notice two youths emerging from the darkness onto the lane.
Whatll it be, a cigarette or some money? the first rasped.
None of those, Ive got neither, Dad answered placidly. I dont smoke, I dont drink.
Got anything else? the other pressed.
Nothing, why ask?
Mate, youre looking fierce! one of them sneered, flashing a sharp object from his pocket.
At that moment Dawson burst from the hedges onto the lane, black as coal, broadshouldered and imposing in the moonlight. The youths froze, startled.
Come here!
Dad seized the leash, his voice calm: Move along, lads, lest you bring trouble upon yourselves. I have no money to give, and Id rather not provoke the dog.
Later, recalling the incident at home, he mused that if anyone knew how gentle Dawson was, theyd have thought hed been spared a nightmare. Charlie was convinced that Dawson, ever goodnatured, would never harm his father. The only time Dawson couldnt help was when Dad fell ill unexpectedly, a swift leukemia taking him within four years. Charlie was then eleven.
From that point Dawson never left Charlies side, just as he had never left his fathers. It was as if the dog understood that his young master needed protection, and for a while he seemed to disappear for long stretches, only to return.
Charlie wept. He was now fifty. A year ago his mother had met Gordon, a decent man who treated Charlie kindly. Two months earlier, when the man moved in, an allergy to dogs surfaced. At first it had been mild, but after they all lived together the reaction grew severe. Mum, despondent, began urging her son to give Dawson away.
Charlie could not believe it, but he gritted his teeth and, with a heavy heart, began searching for any family willing to adopt the dog. Yet whenever he looked at Dawson, tears welled up. No one seemed ready to shoulder the responsibility of such a creature. Granddad, frail and ill, could no longer tend to Dawson.
I will not send him to a shelter! he declared firmly after yet another heated discussion. He cant go there, hes ours!
Darling, even Gordon is now ours, Mum whispered, fighting back tears. Is the dog more precious than a person? More than me? More than Gordon?
Mrs, Charlie started, choking, the dog is my family. Hes my family, yours, and Dads. He burst into sobs, his voice barely a whisper. Mum, lets move in with Granddad. We wont be a burden.
Mum, do I now have to split my life between two homes? I have work, and now I must run to the far corners of town to keep the household afloat?
He stared at the keyholder hanging in the corridor, the leash dangling from it, and, clenching his teeth, declared he had made his decision.
Thats when Mum finally called him a traitor.
Liddell, Granddad said over the phone one evening, let Charlie stay with me. Well manage the farm; weve done it before. It eases my mind to have a helping hand.
Exactly, Liddell, Gordon added, youll help Granddad, and theres no need to separate from the dog.
The lock clicked. In the narrow hallway, Dawson slipped in, followed by Charlie, his sports bag thudding behind him.
Everythings settled, Granddad. Mums out of the picture! Gordon helped! Well live together now.
Dawson gave a contented snort and made his way to his usual spot beside the television.
Charlie, Granddads voice crackled over the receiver, something feels off with me. My heart aches each morning. How long will it be?
Ah, Granddad, why didnt you call sooner? Im on my way!
Ivan, the local doctor, had just left his lecturers office and was hurrying home. By the time he arrived, the ambulance was already at Granddads bedside.
Thank you, Margaret Sergeevna, for looking after him, Ivan said, wiping his hands. Im alone now.
Together with Dawson, the black Staffordshire Terrier, they escorted the paramedics inside.
Dont be frightened, the young nurse said, holding the dogs collar, Dawson is gentle, he wont bite.
Im not scared, the girl replied, stepping into the room, just his look is rather grim.
Its just the look, Ivan murmured, watching the doctors movements. Is it serious?
Its a heart issue, young man. A complication that appeared just now. Ill prescribe medication and recommend a drip. Do you have anyone who can do it at home?
No, Charlie sighed. Theres no one to help.
The hospital is not the place for me either, the doctor said, glancing at his pale assistant, perhaps you could…?
Ill pay, Charlie answered, eyes on the nurse, Im a university student and I also work parttime.
Dont worry, the nurse smiled, Ill come over as long as the dog doesnt eat me.
She settled onto the sofa, Dawson lounging lazily beside her, and gave him a playful wink. The dog tucked his tongue back, tilted his head, and stared at her.
Not a bite! Of course not! Charlie exclaimed. All right, Mrs. just call whenever you need anything. Ill run to fetch whatever is required.
Lets arrange it for tomorrow, but call me Mrs. K, the nurse replied.
Very well. Im Ivan, like Granddad.
Charlie hurried to the pharmacy, brewed tea for Granddad, and set off for a walk with Dawson.
Did you enjoy her? Granddad asked when Charlie returned.
Kyes, she was sympathetic and even offered to help.
I feel shes a good person. Youll get along.
Mrs. K visited Ivan as promised, and Charlie, when at home, would see her with Dawson, his beloved dog no longer terrifying. Their walks became more frequent and longer; the young couple spent increasingly many hours together.
A year later a baby boy named Harry was born. A proud Dawson, alongside the whole household, greeted the newborn, never leaving his side. He claimed the spot beside the television, now a nursery, and guarded the cot, growling gently if Harry cried, sniffing his tiny fingers. On walks he protected the pram, becoming the fiercest guardian the little boy could ever have.
Harry learned to hold Dawsons leash, stepping carefully as he took his first wobbly steps. The old dog, now thirteen, moved slowly around the room, his ears twitching whenever Harrys cries grew too loud.
Granddad seemed rejuvenated, taking rides with his grandson, delighting in the simple pleasures of countryside life, rarely venturing out except with Charlie now and then.
Charlie would often drop by Ivans shop, a tiny stall beside the cottage, while steadfast Dawson rested at his feet.
Ivan, may I pop into the shop for a moment? Harrys still asleep; Ill be back quickly.
Go on, dear, dont worry. Everything will be fine, Ivan smiled. Well manage with Harry, and Charlie will be back any minute.
I tried calling Charlie to ask if he could swing by the shop on his way, but his phone was off. Weve run out of milk and baby formula.
Lucy, dont scold me. Youre worrying too much. Take your time.
Lucy hurried away as Ivan settled into his armchair, lowering the television volume so as not to wake Harry. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain behind his breastbone, breath becoming shallow. He tried to rise, but his legs gave way. The medicine cabinet was out of reach. His vision darkened.
Dawson barked, leapt onto the chair, licked his face and hands.
Harry, halfasleep, began to sob. The dog bounded into the adjoining room, the child giggling at the sight and babbling in his own way.
Dawson returned to the chair; his owner lay motionless. The dog gave a brief, confused whine, then lunged toward the doorway, pushing his massive body forward.
The door, which Lucy had left ajar in her rush, swung shut with a thud. Dawson bolted into the hallway.
Margarita Sergeevna was bustling in the kitchen when a knock sounded at the door. She paused, listening, then smiled at Dawsons happy bark. It meant the neighbours were arriving. Soon Ivan, Lucy and the rest of the household gathered. The knocking continued, and Margarita opened the door. Dawson, panting heavily, wagged his tail.
Whats the matter, Dawson? Something happened? a neighbour asked, following the dog. The doors open.
Lucy! she called.
From the other room came Harrys wailing. Seeing Ivan in the armchair, Margarita gasped and rushed over. Dawson fled back into the adjoining room. Harry stopped crying.
Charlie, I just cant leave, Lucy whispered, clutching a tiny handkerchief. If it werent for Dawson She pressed her face against the massive head of the Staffordshire.
Its alright, love. Everythings fine, Ivan embraced her.
Dawson stared lovingly at his master.
Youve done well, the best dog in the world!
In the room, Granddad whispered something to Harry, who burst into a delighted laugh.
The old dogs silver muzzle rested on his lap, eyes soft and full of love for the people he cherished most.
