**Diary Entry June 10th, 1995**
She was due any day now. A three-year-old Rottweiler named Daisy, though to those who loved her, she was simply Junie. I cant recall who first let slip that odd, affectionate nickname, but it stuck fast. So the dog lived with two namesone for family, another for the rest of the world. She didnt mind. Junie it was, then.
Auntie Margaret, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, and soft-hearted to a fault, utterly devoted to her furry child. The Rottweiler knew it and exploited that softness shamelessly. Despite completing my “Basic Obedience Training” course with flying colourseven passing her obedience examJunie allowed herself liberties under her owners’ leniency. She slept exclusively in their bed, often shoving Uncle John onto the floor by dawn with a well-placed paw before sprawling across his spot, snoring loudly. She ate at the kitchen table like a proper family member, resting her heavy head on Auntie Margarets lap, orwithout a shred of guiltpinching a choice bite straight from a plate. Her owners indulged her every whim, mobilising half the town at the slightest whimper of discomfort. And so they did this time.
Back then, mobile phones were unheard of, but knowing a persons address and having a taxi service saved many a sticky situation. When Auntie Margaret fetched me to check on Junie, she triedas alwaysto keep her nerves in check. Junie met us at the door, heavily pregnant but otherwise healthy, though breathing heavily. Not surprising; the poor girl looked set to deliver a dozen pups, by my rough estimate.
Well? Auntie Margaret fretted. Is it time?
Let me at least take my coat off and wash my hands first, I said, flustered.
Junie, thrilled by the attention, yipped and wagged her backside, grinning with all the width of her massive muzzle. Labour was still a good twelve hours off, with no complications requiring my immediate attentionnews I quickly relayed.
What?! Auntie Margaret gasped. Youre leaving us alone tonight? What if the pups come early? What if one gets stuck? Her eyes froze with fear. Sensing it, Junie whined and fixed me with a pleading stare.
Shes fine. Shell deliver by late morning, I assured them.
Laura, the older woman begged, if anything happens to Junie, I wont survive it. You remember when she fell ill? I nodded. You remember how she nearly died? Another nod. I nearly died with her. Do you want a repeat? Her eyebrows shot up accusingly.
Truthfully, that episode had terrified meAuntie Margaret sobbing on the carpet beside her parvovirus-stricken pup, hysterical beyond reason. Never in my career had I seen such panic over a dog. It took immense effort to steady her enough for me to treat the real patient. A repeat? No, thank you.
There we are, then, Auntie Margaret said brightly, pleased at how easily shed secured my stay, and bustled off to put the kettle on.
Junie, however, had a sudden memory resurface. A trained dogs place wasnt the kitchenit was the hallway, near the front door.
Wheres Junie? Auntie Margaret fretted, noticing her absence. She rose and found the dog lying mournfully on her mat, head on paws. Junie? The Rottweiler flicked a knowing glance but stayed put.
Ah, Auntie Margaret chuckled. Afraid of Laura, are we? Strict teacher, wont let you in the kitchen. She laughed, almost girlishly.
I never ceased marvelling at dogs cleverness. Spoiled rotten daily, allowed every indulgenceyet here she was, remembering an instructor wouldnt tolerate mischief. Clever girl.
Their flat, by local standards, was spacioustwo bright rooms facing south, on the second floor of a cosy, well-insulated house. After a light supper (forced upon me by a hospitable host), I was shown to the spare room. The ensuite bathroom, complete with hot watera luxury not all homes in town enjoyedmade refusal impossible.
Fresh from a steaming shower, I stepped outonly to find Junie waiting.
Keeping watch, are you? I asked sternly. She hesitated. What does our expectant mother want?
Junie bolted to the living room where her owners sat, then glanced backasking silent permission to return to her usual spot. The crafty thing! But at the last second, she trotted back to the hall.
Later, Uncle John returned from work, and we shared tea and easy chatter. Junie, oddly, refused to sleep in their room that nightmuch to their surprise.
Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky, promising relentless snow. The moon, barely glimpsed, vanished again. Winter, in a word.
By midnight, everyone retired. Sleep evaded meIve always been a night owlso I picked up a magazine from the bedside table. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy. I switched off the lamp, leaving the door ajarjust in case.
Then, disaster struck. I woke to a searing pain, neck to heart. My medical bag was in the other room. The agony worsenedstanding was impossible. Breath came in shallow gasps; dizziness and weakness set in. I tried calling out, but my voice failed me.
Junie appeared. Seeing my state, she whined anxiously.
Junie, I whispered, clinging to hope, fetch Margaret.
The dog hesitatedthen tore down the hall. I heard her claws scrabbling at their door. Locked. Blast. She rushed back, mission unaccomplished.
Junieopen the door. Open it. My lips cracked with dryness. The pain intensified. If I passed out now
On her third try, Junie shouldered the door open and roused Auntie Margaret.
Need the loo, love? Bit early, she mumbled sleepily.
Junie persisted until, finally, Auntie Margaret rosebut instead of coming to me, she dressed, clipped on Junies lead, and dragged her toward the door.
I heard the struggle. Junie dug in, resisting with all her bulkno mean feat, given her size. Seizing her chance, she yanked the lead, hauling a baffled Auntie Margaret back to my room.
Gaping, the older woman stared between me and the dog.
Lauraare you ill?
*No, Im just practising dramatic irony,* I thought bitterly.
My bag, I managed.
To her credit, she fetched it swiftly. Shall I call an ambulance? Mrs. Thompson downstairs has a phone.
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the vial and syringebut my hands failed me. Auntie Margaret snapped the ampoule, drew the dose, and I injected my thigh without flinching.
*If I live, I swear Ill get checked out.*
The pain ebbed. Colour returned to my cheeksor so Auntie Margaret claimed (she never lied). Over tea, we marvelled at Junies tenacity. Dogs *think*.
By dawn, the blizzard raged. Junie, ever dutiful, requested several snowy outings, leaving Auntie Margaret dusted with flakes. By eleven, contractions began. My turn to help.
One by one, sturdy, squashed-faced pups arrived. Daisyno, *Junie*gazed at her brood, utterly shell-shocked. That bewildered maternal stare stayed with me.
Shes long gone now, after a life well-loved. But I still think of her sometimes. Animals remember kindness. Do we? How often do we recall those whove saved us?
