“Betrayal or Loyalty Saved”
—I’ve made up my mind, Mum! Enough!— Johnny stared stubbornly out the window, lips pressed tight.
—You… you’re a traitor, Johnny!— His mother’s voice trembled, thick with despair and reproach.
—A traitor? Me?!— The boy choked on indignation, spun around sharply, and stormed out of the room.
He slammed the door, threw himself onto the bed, and buried his face in the pillow. Anger roiled inside him, but soon, memories crept in—warm ones, scented with summer and happiness.
When Johnny turned eight, his father gave him the bicycle of his dreams—a sleek, stunt-worthy blue one. The boy was overjoyed: he raced with friends in the yard from dawn till dusk, forgetting everything. Even his father’s upcoming birthday. It was Grandad who reminded him.
—Johnny, lad, have you thought of a gift for your dad?— he asked quietly as they sat together on the porch.
—No, Grandad… I hadn’t thought…
—Well, no matter. If you like, we’ll make something. I’ve an idea.
For two weeks, they crafted a wooden key holder. Carving, sanding, attaching hooks. Johnny worked alongside his grandad, even leaving his beloved bicycle to gather dust in the corner.
On his father’s birthday, Dad was oddly cheerful and mysterious. He thanked them for the gift, kissed Johnny, hugged Grandad. Then, amid laughter, he brought out a wicker basket from the porch.
Inside slept a puppy. Black, plump, with a glossy coat.
—Meet Baxter. My gift to myself. A childhood dream.
—James, have you lost your mind?— Mum threw up her hands. —A dog?!
—Not just any dog—he’s like a little bear!— Dad laughed, his boyish grin disarming them all.
Baxter was loved instantly. A Staffordshire bull terrier, he grew as if on yeast—strong, broad-chested, gentle, and kind. He adored Dad, shadowing him everywhere, guarding, accompanying. Then… one day, he saved him.
Late one evening in the park, two men confronted Dad. Knives, threats. Then, from the bushes, burst Baxter—black as night, fierce as a storm. The sight alone sent the attackers stumbling back.
—If only they knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly…— Dad chuckled afterward.
But the worst came later. Illness. Leukaemia. In just a few months, Dad faded like a candle in the wind. Johnny was only twelve. And Baxter became his shadow.
Now, Johnny was fifteen. A year ago, a man named Simon entered their lives. Respectable, kind. But when he moved in properly, they discovered he was badly allergic to dogs.
Mum tried to smooth things over, then spoke plainly: —We have to rehome Baxter.— Simon was family now, she said. The dog… Johnny listened in disbelief. How could you betray one who never betrayed you?
He asked friends to take Baxter—no luck. An older Staffy suited no one. Grandad wasn’t an option; the old man could barely walk, let alone care for a dog.
—I won’t send him to a shelter!— Johnny declared during the final, fateful talk.
—But Simon is family now…— Mum wept. —Is a dog worth more than a person?
—Worth more than Simon, yes.— Johnny exhaled. —Because he is my family. Baxter was Dad’s family. And mine. And yours, Mum. Grandad said we can live with him. We won’t be in the way.
—And what about me? Split between two homes? I work, John…
Silently, he pointed to the key holder he’d made with Grandad years ago. Baxter’s lead hung there.
—I’ve already decided.
—Traitor,— she whispered, her voice breaking.
Later, Grandad called her himself.
—Elsie, let the lad stay with me. There’s distance learning for school. Truth be told, it’s easier with him here. And Baxter stays. We’ll manage…
Then Simon surprised them.
—Let him go, love. He’s grown. The dog won’t suffer. No need to force it.
Johnny arrived at Grandad’s with Baxter and a duffel bag. The dog flopped contentedly by the telly. Everything settled into place.
Then, one evening, Grandad called—his voice thin and uneasy.
—Johnny, my heart’s acting up. Come quick…
Johnny rushed home from school. The neighbour had called an ambulance but now hovered anxiously by the bed.
—Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore. We’ll manage.
The medics arrived swiftly. The doctor gave an injection. A young nurse, Emily, hesitated at the door, eyeing Baxter.
—Don’t worry, he’s gentle,— Johnny said quickly.
—I’m not afraid,— Emily smiled and stepped inside.
The doctor advised home treatment.
—Someone to tend to him?
—No…— Johnny spread his hands helplessly.
—Emily, will you take it on?— the doctor asked.
—I will. If the beast doesn’t eat me.
She winked at the dog. Baxter gave her a sidelong glance, tucked his tongue away, and almost nodded.
And so it began.
Emily came daily. Johnny started walking her out. Then they strolled together. Then lingered in the park. Their talks grew longer, softer, weightier…
Then little James was born.
Baxter welcomed Emily home from the hospital like family. He abandoned his spot by the telly for a rug by the crib. He watched over the baby, grumbling if he stirred. Slept nearby. Stayed nearby. Always.
Little James learned to walk holding Baxter’s collar.
The dog turned thirteen. He wheezed but patiently kept pace with the toddler. Old, wise, tired—yet just as loyal.
One day, Emily dashed to the shop for milk and nappies. James napped; Grandad was home.
—Don’t fret,— said Grandad. —We’ll manage.
But his heart betrayed him. Pain, darkness, helplessness.
Baxter leapt onto the sofa, licked his hand. Then to James. Then to the door. The open door. He bolted to the neighbour’s. She understood—something was wrong.
Johnny returned to the scent of medicine and the damp, heavy air of the flat.
—I’m sorry,— Emily sobbed. —If not for Baxter…
—It’s alright. All’s well.
Baxter watched them from the floor. His gaze was heavy, deep, brimming with love.
He had not betrayed.
Never.
