Jack, stop counting crows!
For days now, Jack had been refusing the food Susan brought him.
“Oh come on, love, its the same meatballs that Mr. Henry used to get you. He wont be coming for a little while Dont wait for him,” Susan sighed, her hands raised.
It was a strange sight On the long yellow bus stop, all the factory workers waiting for the bus had huddled to one side. The rest of the stop was empty, except for a scruffy ginger dog, tangled fur and all, lounging regally in front of the bench.
Jack was heading into his fourth year, and he knew life as well as he knew his four paws. He spent his days at the bus stop near the hostel. Behind it, there was the factory, and beyond that, a field. Nothing excitingJack had been there many times before.
How had he become Jack? The ginger mongrel couldnt remember. A few young women from the hostel had named him, out of sympathy for his rough life, and often slipped him something to eat. But, for the most part, people avoided Jack.
He wasnt one to look at people with sad, pleading eyes. Nor did he wag his tail at strangers in some hopeful, friendly way. Jack wasnt like that at all. For his three whole years, hed acted like a grumpy old man, grumbling at everyone and everything, scaring off people with his bad temper.
What was there to say about people, really? About most of them? Nothing good, thats what! Hed made an exception for the two women who fed him, but he didnt count them as “most people.”
Jack didnt like people, didnt care for crows, and watched the chirping, splashing sparrows with nothing but disdain. That time in life, when youre a puppy and trust every hand reaching down is there to pet you, always comes to an end. It had passed for Jack, too.
In his dogs mind, people sounded no better than crows, squawking and arguing at the stop, jostling and pushing, shooing him away so he wouldnt get underfoot. Why should he love them? There was really no answer.
The crows, though, were even worse. Those shameless birds would try to snatch away the little food the hostel people left for Jack.
Jack would charge at the birds. Theyd fly up, squawk at each other, and then try again. The day would go by: Jack arguing with the crows, having a go at counting the cheeky feathered thingswhos still prancing about with a full tail?and barking at the two-legged lot.
He couldnt complain about the bus stop. Sure, it wasnt Buckingham Palace. But it kept out the rain and wind, and there was shade on sunny days. If only there werent so many people…
“Oi! Youre blocking the bench, mate! Let me through!”someones boot ended the dogs nap.
Jack opened his eyes. The boot attempted to step over his paws, but the bus stops furry landlord had other ideas:
“You want a fight? Just you wait!”
Jack jumped up. The boot tried to escape, but its owner was saved by the arrival of his bus.
What Jack hated most was when people leapt onto their buses, talking about them nonstop at the stop. Thats how many of his rivals got away.
The boot, abandoned, remained lying at the stophelpless and alone.
“Serves you right,” Jack thought, pleased at his victory. He spent a few proud minutes chewing his prize from every angle, then dragged the boot behind the bin.
“Tina, stay away from that mad dog,” a fair-haired lady pulled her friend back.
“Wild mutt, nothing controls him,” a man with a cigarette chimed in.
The cigarette butt missed the bin and narrowly missed Jack too. He barked furiously, sending the man stomping off to the other end of the stop.
*****
The next day, Jack spotted the owner of the boot again, this time with another man in tow.
“There! That aggressive dog! Do something about it!” The “boots” finger jabbed in Jacks direction, its owner standing as far from the dog as possible.
“What? Mate, youre not the first to complain, but theres no dog catcher service in our little town,” the other man replied, puzzled.
The “boot” lowered his finger and began waving his arms, rattling off words at the speed of a magpie. Jack watched and listened carefully.
Then they both started bickering. Jack watched happily. Wasnt this better than crows fighting over a peanut?
The boots owner couldve sworn a smug grin flickered over Jacks face. No, he must have imagined it.
“I guard the hostel, not the bus stop,” said the security guard, heading back to his post. He paused: “If you throw him a bone, he wont chase you off.”
“Cheers! Perhaps I should drag half my lunch from the canteen here for him too?” the boots owner snapped, glancing at Jack. “And you, beast, why dont you growl, eh? Lost your bark?”
As if he understood the insult, Jack sent the disgruntled man scrambling onto his bus as if he were late for the Derby.
Jack barked after the bus, while Mr. Henrythe real name of the “boots” ownercontinued to splutter behind the steamed-up window.
Avoiding the next meeting was impossible. Mr. Henry had just started at the factory as deputy director of production. Everything was new to him. And with the car in the shop, every morning at the bus stop, he was greeted by the same wild barking. Why did this flea-bitten hellhound have it in for him?!
From then on, it seemed Jack disliked nobody so much as Mr. Henry. Everyone else faded from Jacks mind.
He waited impatiently each morning for the familiar bus and the arrival of Mr. Henrys sensible shoes.
Finally, weary of the mockery from his workmates, Mr. Henry decided to try the security guards advice and bought a meatball from the canteen for Jack.
“Here you go,” he said, shaking the treat from the bag by the stop, eyeing the dog expectantly.
Jack was just about to put the “boot” man in his place again when the tantalising smell of the meatball drew him in. He sniffed.
The meatball vanished so quickly, as if it was never there, the dusty tarmac still held the memory of that glorious smell. Jack licked his lips, peering up at the man.
“Look at that! Not enough for you? Well, dont expect me to lug meatballs here every day. My cookings rubbish and I dont have a wife!” grumbled Mr. Henry.
*****
Next morning, Mr. Henry got a real shock.
“Mr. Henry, has Jack stopped barking at you? Look, not a peep!” Susan the round-faced secretary laughed.
“Respect, Susan, thats what it is,” Mr. Henry replied proudly, glancing sideways at Jack in surprise.
From then on, the ginger loner got used to his daily treata meatball arriving hand in hand with Mr. Henry.
Well, perhaps people werent all as daft as Jack once thought. Maybe they werent the same as the crows, always squabbling over a shiny bit of foil in the morning.
Winter began to spread its chill. One morning, the yellow bus stop lay under a soft layer of snow. An icy wind swept in from the field.
Following ritual, Mr. Henry dropped a meatball and other morsels in front of Jacks nose.
Shivering, Jack moved towards the food. As always, the meatball disappeared before he had much of a look at it. Honest to dog, was that thing enchanted?
Mr. Henry stood watching as the dog trembled.
“Your bus is here, Mr. Henry,” Susan tugged at his sleeve, but the man simply waved her off.
“Oh, bother!” he said, frustrated, turning back towards the factory gate.
Soon enough, a hand in a black leather glove gently stroked Jack. The dog looked up.
“Cold, are you, old chap? Not so fierce now. Lie down, at least theres a bit of cardboard to keep you warm. Well pop it to the side, so its less draughty. Here, have another meatball.”
*****
Saturday found Mr. Henry at home. The flowerbeds out front, part of the house hed bought on the outskirts of town, vanished under thick snow. The wind whipped snowflakes all around.
He fried himself eggs and sausages, had breakfast, then headed to the garage for his shovel. The snow flew as he cleared the path, but his mind was elsewhere.
Mr. Henry paused and watched the flurrying snowflakes. He muttered something to himself, dropped the shovel, and dashed out the gate.
The stop was empty of people. Jack knew there were days like that. The bus would still open its doors, but only two or three got off.
On those days, Jacks stomach rumbled louder than usual. The hostel ladies werent around today either.
Jack stood up. He knew hed probably have to run all the way to the shops and houses before hed find so much as a crust if todays luck didnt change.
He was just about to leave his shelter when, once again, a bus hissed to a halt before him.
“Where do you think youre going? Lost in the snowstorm, are you?”
Mr. Henry unloaded several packets of sausages in front of Jack. The dog gobbled them up as if theyd vanish in thin air.
“No meatballs today, the canteens closed,” Mr. Henry explained, a little embarrassed. “But Ive brought something else”
Thereon the stopa big box appeared, with an old but clean blanket inside.
“Sorry it isnt anything better. Go on, hop in. At least its a bit warmer.”
Suddenly, the snow and wind melted away for Jack. Something warm and unfamiliar glowed inside. Nobody nobody had ever brought him anything like this.
*****
For days, Jack wouldn’t touch the food Susan gave him.
“Theyre the same meatballs Mr. Henry used to bring, love. He wont be back yet, hes caught a chill. Dont wait,” Susan sighed.
Jack, ears down, watched her.
He jumped up every time the bus doors opened or people stepped out from the factory gates. But it was never him.
Jack lay sadly on his blanket in the box. Out back, the crows were fighting over a crust of bread, each wanting to hide it in her special place.
Jack gazed at them and barked in frustration. Silly birds! He too had a secret spota hole behind the stop, just by the rubbish bin.
He dashed from the box and went to his hiding place. He wasnt like those forgetful noisy crows that lost track of their treasures. There it wasthe boot. He remembered it well. Hed once hated it. But now
What was this feeling tearing at him? He pulled the boot out. Where was Mr. Henry? Jack already knew what the others called his personhis person.
But was he a real friend? Was Jack really a good dog if he had let his person slip away?
Jack growled fiercely at the crows. He felt something stirring deep down. Enough! He was tired of all this. He wouldnt stay.
Mr. Henry! Mr. Henry!
Jack perked up, listening as the girl with the phone called out.
“Can’t hear you… I’m getting on the bus now. Got your folder of paperwork, too…”
Susan plopped herself into a seat and didnt notice the ginger tail slip aboard after her.
*****
Jack watched the girl as she called out his persons name over and over.
Susan, wrapping her scarf tightly, hopped off at the stop, Jack right behind, clutching the black boot in his jaws.
Jack felt oddly cheerful. How could he have thought this white snow was cold and unfriendly? It sang happily under Susans boots.
Susan rang the bell, and soon a familiar voice was heard beyond the garden gate. Jack barked with all his might. Startled, Susan slipped, sending the folder flying and papers scattering in the snow.
“Mr. Henry, perhaps youd rather help me up before you start hugging your dog?” she laughed.
Mr. Henrys eyes were bright, as if fogged with happy tears.
“You’ve come to see me? And youve brought a gift? Oh, ladmy old boot of all things!” he said, hugging Jack with one arm and holding the boot in the other.
Susan was helped up and given a hot cup of tea.
“I just dont get it, Mr. Henry,” Susan said as Jack circled round the kitchen, “Why didnt you take the dog home before? Youve got loads of room here!”
“I was afraid,” Mr. Henry admitted. “Id been on my own so long, you see. Having a dogthats a commitment, youre not alone anymore. Its a little family. But now I wouldnt let him go for the world. Once Im back to myself, Ill even learn how to make those meatballs…”
“So we just had to storm your castle, did we?” Susan grinned, shaking her head. “Well, its good Jack came to find you himself.”
And Susan tried to hide her smile, pretending to sip her tea.
*****
In the end, Jack discovered that sometimes, when you open your heart to kindnessno matter where it comes fromyou just might find that family isnt something youre born with. Sometimes, you find it together, one meatball at a time.
