Mum blocked my number on Tuesday afternoon. One minute I was expecting a cheery ringtone; the next, a robotic voice: This number is unavailable. It wasnt some carefully crafted parenting lesson out of her psychology books. Shed just had enough. Shed grown weary of my monthly Can you pop a bit into my account, just enough to last till Monday?
Im twenty-two, spent so much time thinking the world owed me a favour. Working a normal job wasnt on my agenda. I was waiting for my big break, but while I waited, I lived off Mums transfers. The money evaporatedgames, nights out, takeaway food because cooking was apparently beneath me.
When my landlord realised the rent wasnt coming, he showed me the door. All I had left was my parents old Ford Focus and Dukemy German Pointer. Duke wasnt just a pet; he was my only mate. He loyally waited for me to stumble back after yet another night out.
That first night sleeping in the car, I thought, Temporary, surely. By the third night, I realised my food stash was gone. All I had left was a handful of coins. I bought myself a Pot Noodle and for Dukethe cheapest dog food I could find at the local kiosk. Next morning, Duke couldnt get up. His digestion, always a bit delicate, couldnt handle the rubbish. He lay listlessly on the back seat, breathing heavy, looking at me with such sorrow, as if he was saying goodbye. Pointers need special diets, and like a selfish git, Id skimped, refusing to buy decent food a week ago.
I drove to Mums town, hoping for just a bite to eat and a warm bed. But the locks had been changed. I stood under her window, dialled her numbersilent. Sent messagesno reply.
I sank onto the edge of the pavement, feeling absolutely useless. The lady from downstairs, Mrs Turner, brought me a parcel.
Helen asked me to pass this on.
Inside: special dog food and meds for Duke. No cash, no note. Just the parcela sign she cared about Duke, but couldnt bear to talk to me anymore.
I wanted to get Duke to the vet, but the damn car gave upthe battery finally died. No money for a taxi, no friends to turn to. The vet surgery was several neighbourhoods away.
I lifted Duke into my arms. Thirty kilos. Not exactly a Hollywood rescue. I was gasping, sweaty, and had to stop more than oncemy legs buckled under the strain. People stared, giving me a wide berth, probably thinking I was homeless. When I finally staggered up to the vets door, I collapsed onto the bench, Duke in my lap.
The vet, Mr Johnson, remembered me from my dads days, looked Duke over, then fixed his gaze on me:
Did you really carry him all the way?
Car wouldnt start, I croaked.
Need a job? My mates looking for lads to haul at the scrapyard. Not glamorous, but honest pay. If you give it a go, youll manage. If not, Im keeping Dukeyoull finish him off wandering about like this.
I took the job. Not because Id suddenly grown noble, but because, frankly, I was terrified. I worked the warehouse late into the night, got used to manual labour, slept in the car till I saved enough for a room in a hostel.
I changed. That carefree youth melted away. In the mirror I saw a bloke with tired but steady eyes, hands rough from work. I finally understood the value of every pound.
Six months later, I drove over to Mums. Not to ask for anything, just to show her. I walked in, silently put money on the countertop, and fixed the kitchen tap and the room doorthose jobs Id been meaning to do for years.
Mum stood nearby, saying nothing. She just came over and placed her hand on my shoulder. For the first time in ages, I didnt feel like her little boyI felt like a man.
She blocked me, not because she stopped loving me, but because it hurt to see my weakness. Sometimes youve got to haul your dog across town with your own two arms before you realise: nobodys going to live your life for you.
