JUNO
She was due any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Izzy. But to her family, she was simply Juno. I cant recall who first slipped out that odd yet affectionate nickname, but it stuck firmly. So the dog lived with two namesone for her loved ones, the other for everyone else. She didnt mind: Juno it was, then. No harm done.
Auntie Linda, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, and gentle to a fault, utterly devoted to her fur baby. The Rottweiler knew this and took full advantage. Despite having completed my “Basic Obedience Training” course with flying colourseven passing her obedience examJuno allowed herself many liberties under her owners lenient rule. She slept exclusively in their bed, often disregarding all hospitality norms: by dawn, shed shove Uncle John, the man of the house, onto the floor with her powerful paws, sprawl across the freed space, and snore loudly, finishing her slumber. She ate like a true family member at the kitchen table, resting her heavy head on Auntie Lindas lap. Shed even swipe a tasty morsel straight from a plate without a hint of guilt. Her owners indulged her every whim, and at the slightest whimper or hint of discomfort, theyd rally half the town. This time was no exception.
Back then, mobile phones were unheard of, but people managed tricky situations with taxis and known addresses. So, after Auntie Linda brought me to her home, she tried to steady herself as usual. Juno greeted us at the doornoticeably rounder and heavier but in perfect health, albeit breathing heavily. Understandable for a mother-to-be on the brink. At a glance, I estimated shed bless her owners with a dozen pups. No fewer.
Well? Auntie Linda asked, voice tight with worry. Is it time? Her anxious eyes darted to the dog.
Auntie Linda, I said, flustered, at least let me take off my coat and wash my hands before examining her.
Juno, anticipating undivided attention, yipped joyfully, wagging her rear and grinning wide across her massive muzzle. Labour was at least twelve to fourteen hours away. No complications or urgent concerns required my immediate oversight, which I promptly reassured her about.
What? Auntie Linda gasped. Youll leave us alone tonight? What if the pups come early? What if one gets stuck? Her eyes froze in terror. Sensing her beloved owners fear, Juno whined and fixed me with a pleading stare.
Ive told youshes fine. Shell deliver by midday tomorrow.
Laura, the elderly woman begged, if anything happens to Juno, I wont survive. Remember when she fell ill? I nodded. Remember when she nearly died? Another nod. I almost died with her. Do you want a repeat? Her eyebrows arched accusingly.
Frankly, her hysterics that time had unnerved melying on the carpet beside her parvovirus-stricken pup, reacting as if the world were ending. In all my years, Id never seen such panic over a dog. It took immense effort to calm her enough to let me treat the actual patient. A repeat was the last thing I wanted.
There, there, the now-composed owner said, pleased shed convinced me to stay overnight, and bustled off to make tea. Suddenly, Junos memory sparked. She recalled that trained dogs belonged not in the kitchen but near the front door.
Wheres Juno? Auntie Linda fretted, noticing her absence, and hurried to the hallway. The dog lay on her mat, head drooped between her paws.
Juno, she called. The dog shot her a knowing glance but stayed put.
Ah, Auntie Linda realised. Youre scared of Laura, arent you? Mean old instructor, keeping you from the kitchen. She laughed, almost childishly.
I never ceased marvelling at dogs cleverness. Here was a spoilt pet, allowed every indulgence dailyyet she remembered the rules when faced with her trainer. Clever girl.
My friends flat, by local standards, was spacious: two bright rooms facing south, on the second floor of a cosy wooden house. After a light supper (forced down at Auntie Lindas insistence), I was shown to the spare room. The ensuite bathroom, with hot and cold running water, was a luxury in our towns winters. I couldnt refuse.
Fresh from a steamy shower, I stepped outonly to find Juno waiting.
Were you guarding me? I asked sternly. She hesitated. What does the mum-to-be want? I added, noting her adoring gaze.
Juno bolted to the living room where her owners sat, then glanced back as if asking permission to rejoin them. Crafty thing. But at the last second, she returned to the hall. Soon, Uncle John arrived from work, and we resumed tea and chatter. Juno, however, refused to sleep with themmuch to their surprise.
Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky, poised to dump snow. The moon, barely glimpsed, vanished. Winter, in short. By midnight, all retired. Sleep eluded meIm a night owlso I thumbed through a magazine on the bedside table. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy. I switched off the lamp, leaving the door ajar in case Juno needed me.
Then, I fell ill. A searing pain shot from my neck to my heart. My medical bag was in the other room. The agony intensifiedstanding was impossible. Breath grew scarce; dizziness and weakness set in. I called for Auntie Linda, but my voice failed. Juno appeared, visibly alarmed.
Juno, I whispered. Fetch Linda. The dog studied me, then tore down the hall. Scratching echoedthe bedroom door was locked. Bad luck. Juno clattered back, mission unaccomplished.
Juno. Open the door, I rasped. The pain worsened. If I passed out, itd be the end. On her third try, Junos bulk forced the door open. She roused Auntie Linda, who sleepily mumbled, Need the loo? Its early. But Juno persisted.
Finally, Auntie Linda dressed, clipped on the lead, and tried dragging Juno outside. I heard their scuffle. Juno planted her paws, resisting fiercely. Thena yank, and Auntie Linda stumbled into my room, bewildered.
Laura, are you ill? she gasped.
No, Im just joking, I thought dryly. But the pain was real. My bag, I managed.
Auntie Linda sprinted for it. Should we call an ambulance? The neighbour has a phone.
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the syringe. Time was critical. Yet my hands failed to open the vial. Auntie Linda helped without question, snapping the ampoule and drawing the dose. I injected my thigh, unflinching.
If I live, I swear Ill get checked, I vowed. Soon, the pain ebbed. My cheeks flushed pinkAuntie Linda said so, and she never lied. She was shaken, though. Over tea, I thanked my saviour. Dogs truly understand.
Sleep was lost. Juno, ever polite, requested several outdoor trips, leaving Auntie Linda dusted with snow. By noon, contractions began. My turn to help. Plump, sturdy pups arrived in quick succession. Izzy gazed at her treasures, utterly stunned. That dazed maternal stare stayed with me forever.
Shes long gone now, after a full, loved life. Yet I still think of her. Animals remember kindness. Do we, humans, recall our saviours as often?
