**Diary Entry – 12th February, 1992**
She was due any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Daisythough to her family, she was always just *Sunny*. I cant recall who first let slip that odd, affectionate nickname, but it stuck fast. So the dog lived with two names: one for those who loved her, another for the rest of the world. And she didnt mindSunny it was. Couldnt hurt.
Auntie Margaret, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, soft-hearted, utterly devoted to her furry child. And Sunny knew it, exploiting that gentleness to the full. Despite completing my *Basic Obedience Training* course with flying colourseven passing the final examshe allowed herself liberties under her owners leniency. She slept exclusively in their bed, often shoving Uncle George onto the floor at dawn with a well-placed paw, sprawling in his spot with a contented snore. She ate at the kitchen table like family, resting her heavy head in Margarets lap, orwithout a shred of guiltsnatching a choice bite straight from a plate. The pair indulged her every whim, and at the slightest whimper of discomfort, theyd rally half the town to her aid. This time was no different.
Back then, mobile phones were unheard of, but people managedknowing addresses, relying on taxis. When Auntie Margaret brought me to her home, she tried (as usual) to keep calm. Sunny met us at the door, swollen with pregnancy but otherwise healthy, if a bit breathless. Understandablea mother-to-be, and by my rough estimate, shed bless her owners with a dozen pups. No fewer.
Well? Margaret asked anxiously, eyes darting to the dog. Is it time?
Auntie Margaret, I said, flustered, let me at least take my coat off and wash my hands before I examine her.
Sunny, anticipating the fuss, yipped, wagging her hindquarters, grinning wide with that massive muzzle. Labour was at least twelve hours off. No complications, no need for urgent interventionwhich I promptly assured Margaret.
*What?* She clasped her hands. Youll leave us alone tonight? What if the pups come early? What if one gets stuck? Her eyes froze with fear. Sensing it, Sunny whined and fixed me with a pleading stare.
Ive told youshes fine. Shell deliver by midday tomorrow.
Laura, Margaret begged, if anything happens to Sunny, I wont survive it. You remember her last illness? I nodded. Remember how she nearly *died*? Another nod. I almost died *with her*. Do you want that again? Her brows arched dramatically.
Truthfully, that episode had terrified meMargaret hysterical on the carpet beside her parvovirus-stricken pup. Such panic over a dog? A first in my practice. It took ages to steady her enough to let me treat the real patient. I *never* wanted a repeat.
There we are, then, Margaret said, brightening, thrilled Id agreed to stay. She bustled off to make tea. Sunny, suddenly recalling her training, slunk to the hallway mather *proper* placeand flopped down, head on paws.
Wheres Sunny? Margaret fretted, noticing her absence. She hurried out, finding the dog despondent in the corridor. Sunny? The Rottweiler cut her a knowing glance but stayed put.
Ah, Margaret chuckled. Afraid of Laura, are you? *She* wont let you on the kitchen floor. Nasty teacher. Her laughter rang, childlike.
Ill never cease marvelling at dogs cunning. Spoilt rotten daily, allowed every misbehaviouryet here she was, remembering *I* wasnt so indulgent. Clever girl.
The flat was spacious by local standards: two bright south-facing rooms in a cosy wooden house. After a light supper (forced on me by Margaret), I was shown to the spare roomcomplete with ensuite. A luxury, given many homes here still lacked reliable cold water in winter.
Fresh from a shower, I stepped outstraight into Sunny.
Stalking me? I asked sternly. She hesitated. And what does our expectant mother want? I added, as she gazed up adoringly.
She bolted to the lounge where her owners sat, then glanced back*asking* permission to rejoin them. Cheeky thing. But at the last second, she returned to the hall.
Later, Uncle George arrived from work. More tea, more chatter. Sunny, for once, refused to sleep in their roombaffling them entirely.
Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky; the moon vanished before it could shine. Winter, plain and simple. By midnight, everyone retired. Sleep eluded meIve always been nocturnalso I flicked through a bedside magazine until my eyelids drooped. Dousing the lamp, I left the door ajar. Just in case.
Then the pain struck.
I woke to a searing acheneck to heart. My medical bag was in the other room. The agony worsened, stealing my breath. Dizziness, weaknessI couldnt rise. I tried calling for Margaret, but my voice failed.
Sunny appeared.
Sunny, I whispered, clinging to hope. Fetch Margaret. She studied me, deliberatedthen *raced* off. Claws scrabbled at their bedroom door. *Locked.* Bad luck. She tore back, frantic.
Sunny. Open the door. *Door,* I croaked. The pain crescendoed. If I passed out, Id be done for.
On her third attempt, she shoved it ajar with her bulk, rousing Margaret.
Need the loo, love? Bit early, came a sleepy mutter. Sunny persisted. Margaret rosebut instead of coming to me, she dressed, clipped on the lead, and dragged the dog toward the front door.
I heard the struggle. Sunny dug in, resisting with all 50 kilos of muscle. Thena yankand Margaret stumbled into my room, coat still on, bewildered.
Lauraare you ill? she gasped.
*No, Im jesting,* I thought savagely. But the pain was real.
My bag, I gritted out.
Margaret sprinted for it. Shall I call an ambulance? The neighbour has a phone
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the vial and syringe. No strength to snap the ampoule. Margaret did it, drew the dose, and I jabbed my thigh without flinching.
*If I live, Im getting checked.*
The pain ebbed. Colour returned to my cheeksso Margaret said, and she never lied. Over tea, we marvelled at Sunnys stubborn brilliance. Dogs *think*.
By dawn, contractions started. My turn to help. Pup after pup arrivedstocky, squirming things. Daisy (no longer Sunny) gaped at her brood, utterly floored. That stunned maternal stare stays with me.
Shes long gone nowa full life, loved fiercely. But sometimes, I still remember my saviour. Animals *know* gratitude. And on quiet nights, when the wind brushes the windowpane just so, I swear I hear the soft click of claws on woodhesitant, familiar. Then nothing. Just the hush. But the warmth remains. Like a paw resting gently on the edge of the bed, where no dog should be.
