**Betrayal or Loyalty Saved**
“I’ve made up my mind, Mum! Enough!” Jake clenched his jaw, staring stubbornly out the window.
“You… you’re betraying us, Jake!” His mother’s voice trembled, laced with desperation and accusation.
“Betraying *you*? Me?” The boy choked on his anger, spun around, and stormed out of the room.
He slammed the door behind him, threw himself onto the bed, and buried his face in the pillow. Rage boiled inside him—until warm memories rushed in, smelling of summer and joy.
When Jake turned eight, his dad gave him the bike of his dreams—a sleek blue stunt bike, gleaming under the sun. Jake was over the moon, racing around the neighbourhood with his mates from dawn till dusk, forgetting everything else. Even that his dad’s birthday was coming up. His granddad reminded him.
“Jakey, have you got your dad’s present ready?” he asked softly as they sat together on the porch.
“No, Grandad… I hadn’t thought—”
“That’s alright. If you want, we can make something together. I’ve got an idea.”
For two weeks, they crafted a wooden key rack—carving, sanding, staining, screwing in hooks. Jake worked just as hard as his grandad, leaving his beloved bike gathering dust in the shed.
On his dad’s birthday, the man was oddly cheerful and secretive. He thanked Jake for the gift, hugged his son, clapped Grandad on the back. Then, laughing, he carried in a woven basket from the porch.
Inside slept a puppy—jet black, plump, with a glossy coat.
“Meet Dyson. My gift to myself. Childhood dream.”
“Rob, have you lost your mind?” Mum threw her hands up. “A *dog*?”
“Not just any dog—look at him, he’s like a little bear!” Dad laughed, his grin so boyish it disarmed them all.
Dyson was loved instantly. A Staffordshire Bull Terrier, he grew like lightning—strong, broad-chested, calm, and gentle. He adored Jake’s dad, following him everywhere, guarding, keeping him company. Then, one day, he saved him.
Late at night in the park, two men jumped Dad—knives, threats. Out of nowhere, Dyson charged from the bushes, black as midnight, a storm in the dark. Just the sight of him made the attackers stumble back.
“If only they’d known he wouldn’t hurt a fly…” Dad used to say, chuckling.
But the worst came later. The illness. Leukaemia. In just months, Dad faded like a candle in the wind. Jake was only twelve. And Dyson became his shadow.
Now Jake is fifteen. A year ago, Mum started seeing Simon—decent, respectful. But when he moved in properly, it turned out he was severely allergic to dogs.
At first, Mum tried to smooth things over. Then she said it outright: “We have to rehome Dyson.” Simon was family now, she argued. But the dog… Jake listened in disbelief. How could you betray someone who never betrayed you?
He asked his friends—no one could take Dyson. An old Staffy didn’t suit them. Even Grandad wasn’t an option—the old man could barely walk himself, let alone look after a dog.
“I won’t put him in a shelter!” Jake said firmly during the final talk.
“But Simon is *family* now…” Mum wept. “Is a dog really more important than a person?”
“More important than Simon? Yes,” Jake exhaled. “Because you’re my family. And Dyson is Dad’s family. And mine. And *yours*, Mum. We’ll go live with Grandad. We won’t be in the way.”
“And what about me? Split between two houses? I work, Jake—”
Silently, he pointed to the key rack they’d made years ago. Dyson’s lead hung there.
“I’ve already decided.”
“Traitor,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
Later, Grandad called Mum himself.
“Linda, let him stay with me. There’s distance learning for school. Honestly, it’s easier with the lad around. And Dyson can stay. We’ll manage.”
Then Simon surprised them.
“Lin, let him go. He’s old enough. The dog won’t suffer. Why force it?”
Jake arrived at Grandad’s with Dyson and a duffel bag. The dog flopped contentedly by the telly, tail thumping. Everything fell into place.
Then one day, Grandad called—his voice thin, anxious.
“Jake, something’s not right. Come home.”
Jake bolted from class, raced back. The neighbour had already called an ambulance, hovering by Grandad’s bedside, glancing at the clock.
“Thank you, Margaret. We’ll take it from here.”
The ambulance arrived fast. The doctor gave an injection. A young paramedic, Emily, hesitated at the door, eyeing Dyson.
“Don’t worry, he’s friendly,” Jake said quickly.
“Not scared,” she smiled, stepping inside.
The doctor prescribed home treatments.
“Anyone to help?”
“No…” Jake spread his hands helplessly.
“Emily, up for it?” the doctor asked.
“I’ll do it. Unless the beast eats me.”
She winked at the dog. Dyson cocked his head, tucked his tongue away, as if nodding.
That’s how it began.
Emily came every day. Jake started walking her out. Then walking her home. Lingering in the park. Their talks grew longer, softer, deeper…
Then little Alfie was born.
Dyson greeted Emily home from the hospital like family. He traded his spot by the telly for a rug near the cot—watching over the baby, grumbling if he stirred, sleeping close. Always close.
Alfie took his first steps clinging to Dyson’s collar.
The dog turned thirteen. His breathing grew heavy, but he kept pace with the toddler—old, wise, exhausted. Still unwavering.
One day, Emily dashed to the shop for nappies and milk. Alfie was asleep. Grandad was home.
“Don’t worry,” said William. “We’ve got this.”
But his heart gave out. Pain. Darkness. Helplessness.
Dyson leapt onto the sofa, licked his hand. Then to Alfie. Then to the door. A nudge. The neighbour understood—something was wrong.
Jake returned to the scent of antiseptic, the damp air of the flat.
“I’m sorry,” Emily sobbed. “If not for Dyson—”
“It’s alright. We’re okay.”
Dyson watched from the floor. His gaze was heavy, deep, full of love.
He never betrayed them.
Never.
