Harry was fourteen, and the whole world seemed bent on keeping him down. More precisely, it simply refused to understand him.
Bloody hell, that little troublemaker again! muttered Aunt Clara from the thirdfloor landing, hurrying to the other side of the courtyard. One mother to raise him. No wonder he turns out like this!
Harry walked past, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ragged jeans, pretending not to hear. He could hear, though.
His mother was still at work, pulling a late shift again. On the kitchen table lay a note: Meatballs in the fridge heat them up. And then silence. Always silence.
He was just leaving school, where the teachers had once more held a conversation about his behaviour. They acted as if he didnt realise hed become everyones problem. He did. What did it matter?
Hey, lad! called Uncle Victor, the neighbour on the ground floor. Seen a limp pooch around here? We ought to shoo it away.
Harry stopped and glanced.
By the rubbish bins lay a dog. Not a puppy an adult, redcoated with white patches. It lay motionless, eyes fixed on the passersby. Keen, intelligent eyes. And sad.
Someone ought to get rid of it! Aunt Clara rattled on. Its probably sick!
Harry moved closer. The dog didnt stir, only gave a feeble wag of its tail. One hind leg bore a ragged, bloodstained wound.
Whats your problem? snapped Uncle Victor. Grab a stick and chase it off!
Something snapped inside Harry.
Dont you dare touch him! he snapped, stepping in front of the animal. He isnt doing anyone any harm!
Uncle Victors eyebrows shot up. Well, look at that a protector has shown up.
Ill protect him! Harry sank down beside the dog, extending a tentative hand. The beast sniffed his fingers, then gave a gentle lick to his palm.
Warmth swelled in the boys chest. For the first time in ages, someone had treated him kindly.
Come on, he whispered to the dog. Come with me.
At home Harry fashioned a makeshift bed from old jackets in the corner of his room. Mother wouldnt be back until evening that meant no one would shout and chase the infection away.
The wound looked nasty. Harry jumped on the internet, hunting articles on firstaid for animals. He squinted at medical jargon, memorising every detail.
First you wash it with hydrogen peroxide, he muttered, rummaging through the household firstaid kit. Then dab iodine on the edges. Gently, so it doesnt hurt.
The dog lay calmly, offering its injured leg with trust the first genuine gaze anyone had ever given him.
What should I call you? Harry asked while bandaging the paw. Youre a red one how about Rusty?
The dog gave a soft bark, as if in agreement.
Evening came, and Mother slipped in. Harry braced for a scolding, but she just glanced at Rusty, smoothing the bandage.
Did you do that yourself? she asked quietly.
Yeah. I found a tutorial online.
What will you feed him?
Ill figure something out.
She stared at her son for a long moment, then at the dog, which was licking her hand affectionately.
Well take him to the vet tomorrow, she decided. Lets see what that leg needs. Have you thought of a proper name?
Rusty, Harry replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
For the first time in months, there was no wall of misunderstanding between them.
The next morning Harry rose an hour earlier than usual. Rusty winced, trying to sit up, the pain obvious.
Stay put, the boy soothed. Ill fetch some water and something to eat.
There was no dog food left. Harry cut up the last meatball, soaked some stale bread in milk. Rusty ate greedily yet delicately, licking every crumb.
At school Harry managed to stay out of the teachers crosshairs for once. All he could think of was Rusty was the leg hurting? Was he bored?
You seem off today, the class teacher remarked, puzzled.
Harry just shrugged. He didnt want to explain theyd only laugh.
After school he bolted home, ignoring the disapproving glances of the neighbours. Rusty greeted him with a jubilant yelp, now able to stand on three legs.
Alright, mate, fancy a walk? Harry said, fashioning a leash from an old rope. Just watch that leg.
In the courtyard something spectacular unfolded. Aunt Clara, spotting them, let out an almost shrill squeal.
Did you drag that beast home? Harry! Have you lost your mind?!
Whats the problem? Harry replied calmly. Im nursing him. Hell be fine soon.
Youre treating it?! a neighbour interjected. Where do you get the money for medicine? Stealing from your mother?
Harry clenched his fists, but held back. Rusty pressed against his leg, as if feeling the tension.
No, Im not stealing. Im using my own savings. Ive been setting aside my allowance, he said softly.
Uncle Victor shook his head. Boy, do you realise youve taken on a living soul? This isnt a toy. He needs food, care, walks.
Every day now began with a stroll. Rusty healed fast, soon able to run, though a slight limp remained. Harry spent hours teaching him commands, patient as a monk.
Sit! Good boy! Give paw! Thats it! he instructed.
Neighbours watched from their windows. Some shook their heads, some smiled. Harry saw nothing but Rustys loyal eyes.
He was changing. Not instantly, but gradually. The insults stopped, he started tidying up, his grades rose. He finally had a purpose and it was only the beginning.
Three weeks later the worst nightmare unfolded.
Harry and Rusty were returning from an evening walk when a pack of stray mutts burst from behind the garage five or six snarling, gaunt dogs with eyes like burning coals. The leader, a massive black male, snarled and surged forward.
Instinctively Rusty backed up against Harry, the sore leg throbbing, unable to sprint. The pack sensed his weakness.
Back! Harry shouted, brandishing the leash. Get out of here!
But the pack closed in, surrounding them. The black leader growled louder, preparing to pounce.
Harry! a woman’s voice yelled from above. Run! Throw the dog away and get out of here!
It was Aunt Clara, leaning out of a window, other faces watching from the stairwell.
Dont be a hero, lad! Uncle Victor roared. Hes limping; he wont escape anyway!
Harry glanced at Rusty. The dog trembled but didnt run. He pressed his body against his owners leg, ready to share whatever fate awaited them.
The black dog leapt first. Harry reflexively ducked, but a bite landed on his shoulder. Sharp teeth tore through his jacket, digging into skin.
Despite the painful wound, Rusty, despite his crippled leg and fear, lunged at the leader, clamping his jaws onto the snarling beasts leg and hanging on with his whole body.
A chaotic brawl erupted. Harry kicked, swung his arms, trying to shield Rusty from the vicious bites. He took cuts, scratches, but never backed down.
Lord, what is happening! Aunt Clara shrieked from the landing. Victor, do something!
Uncle Victor scrambled down the stairs, grabbing a broomstick, then a piece of rebar anything he could wield.
Hold on, lad! he shouted. Ill help!
Just as the pack seemed about to overwhelm them, a familiar voice roared.
Enough!
It was Mother, bursting from the stairwell with a bucket of water, dousing the dogs. The pack recoiled, snarling and retreating.
Victor, get them out of here! she shouted.
Victor rushed back with his stick, while several neighbours descended from upper flats. Realising they were outnumbered, the stray dogs fled.
Harry lay on the pavement, clutching Rusty to his chest. Both were bleeding, both shivered, but they were alive.
Son, his mother sat beside him, gently inspecting his scratches. You gave me a fright.
I couldnt abandon him, Mum, Harry whispered. You understand? I just couldnt.
I understand, she replied softly.
Aunt Clara stepped into the yard, eyes wide as if seeing Harry for the first time.
Boy, she stammered, you could have you know, died because of that dog.
It wasnt because of the dog, Uncle Victor interjected. It was for a friend. Do you get the difference, Clara?
The neighbour nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Lets get home, Mother said. We need to tend the wounds yours and Rustys.
Harry struggled to his feet, cradling the dog. Rusty whined faintly, his tail giving a tentative wag, glad his master was still there.
Hold on a minute, Uncle Victor called out. Will you take him to the vet tomorrow?
Well go, Mother answered. Ill drive. Ill pay for the treatment that brave dog deserves it.
Harry stared at Victor, stunned.
Thanks, Uncle Vic. But Ill pay my own way, he said.
Dont argue. Earn later, pay later. For now were proud of you, arent we? Victor slapped the boys shoulder. Right, folks?
The neighbours gave a muted assent.
A month slipped by. On a typical October evening Harry returned from the veterinary clinic, where he now helped volunteers on weekends. Rusty trotted beside him his leg healed, the limp almost gone.
Harry! Aunt Clara called, hurrying over. Wait a sec!
He halted, bracing for another lecture, but she handed him a bag of premium dog food.
Its for Rusty, she said, a little embarrassed. Good stuff, pricey. You look after him so well.
Thanks, Aunt Clara, Harry replied earnestly. I actually get a small wage at the clinic Dr. Anne pays me.
Take it anyway. Youll need it later.
At home Mother was setting the table. Seeing her son, she smiled.
Hows the clinic? Is Dr. Anne happy with you?
She says I have steady hands and patience, Harry answered, patting Rustys head. I might even become a vet someday. Im serious about it.
Hows school?
Fine. Even Mr. Patel from physics praised me for being more focused.
Mother nodded. In the past month Harry had transformed beyond recognition no more shouting, more helping around the house, his grades improving, his attitude softened. He finally had a dream.
You know, she said, Victors coming tomorrow. He wants to offer you another job a helper at his friends kennel.
Really? Can I bring Rusty with me?
I think so. Hes practically a working dog now.
That night Harry sat in the yard with Rusty, rehearsing a new command guard. The dog obeyed, eyes glued to his owner.
Uncle Victor shuffled over, taking a seat on the bench.
Are you sure youll go to the kennel tomorrow? he asked.
Absolutely. With Rusty.
Then get some rest. Itll be a tough day.
Victor left, and Harry lingered a while longer, feeling Rustys warm head rest on his knees, a contented sigh escaping the dog.
They had found each other. And neither would ever be alone again.