Bitch

She was all skin and bone, her coat lacklustre and her dugs hung low telling the tale of many litters. Scars on her legs and calluses on her skin confirmed a life hard lived which given her breed was odd, as she would have been an expensive acquisition.

I feed a group of street dogs on the lane, rehome puppies and neuter those bitches I could, but her? there was no way I would go near, her breed was one I didn’t trust. As far as I was concerned her breed had no redeeming features, too big, ugly, given to violence and unpredictable, and breed that I am totally unable to read, given that I’ve spent a lot of time with various dogs, running a boarding kennel, re-homing and re-training dogs, being able to read them is important to me.

She never came to my gate with the others, maybe she got a few left overs, maybe she scrounged from the rubbish behind the hotels I didn’t care, occasionally I saw her but she would slink back under the Bougainvilleas that line the lane.

A few months back now, the garden boy comes down to tell one of the dogs has broken into the garden and made a den between the papaya stand and the plum trees at the far end of the plot and that he can hear pups, I’m perplexed I didn’t think any of the bitches were in pup, I ask him which one

“the big one, Miss” was his reply

My heart sinks of all the dogs round here, why her? The only one I don’t like, don’t trust. Why is she in the garden, the others I could have happily accommodated, not her. I can hardly ask him to move her if I won’t, anyway if she has pups she’ll be more dangerous than ever. I relent, tell the boy to put a pan of water up there and some food then keep away from her, hopefully she’ll move them on soon or maybe they won’t make it, she wasn’t in good health anyway.

About three weeks later I’m sitting on the veranda in the early morning, a pot of coffee on the table, idly watching the Bananaquits’ foraging around in the shrubs when I see a movement out of the corner of my eye, she is there -- with a pup in her mouth, it’s crying, not the heathy bawling of a well fed pup wanting its next meal but the sad keening of one who is hungry beyond hunger and loosing hope. She puts the pup down and crawls on her belly towards me, then rolls over to show me her dugs, they are empty she has no milk, she lifts her head and looks me in the eye, she pleads, one mother to another, save my babies.

I burst into tears, then busy myself mixing milk and water for the pups, my fear of her forgotten I send the boy to bring the other pups down and settle them in a banana box, Then I look at her, there is not an ounce of condition left, everything she could give she gave, even then, hungry as she was, she never tried to take the milk I put out for her pups. I put some food down for her, she waited until I left before eating.

The pups grew and soon became the healthy hooligans that they should be, she stayed and looked after them gradually putting weight on, but she kept her distance.

Then one morning she seemed to make a desision, as I sat drinking my morning cup of coffee she walked along the veranda and gently placed her head in my lap, I stroked her and felt her relax, “well girl” I found myself saying “you have redeemed your breed in my eyes and I hope I have restored your faith in humankind”