![\"Dog's](\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/08\/Dogs-eyes-by-Billy-Bob-Bain-CC-BY-2.0-flickr.jpg\")
<\/a>\u201cDon\u2019t worry mate. We\u2019ll make it better soon.\u201d<\/p>\nA mild grimace appeared on the vet\u2019s face.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can feel it,\u201d he said. \u201cI think you\u2019re right. It\u2019s a tumour.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh no!\u201d<\/p>\n
I pressed my chin onto Harold\u2019s forehead. It was what I had expected but it hurt. I had grown fond of him, despite what had happened on the day I took him in.<\/p>\n
The vet moved his hand further down and his grimace tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s something else down here. Smaller, but it could be second tumour.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shifted and slid my hand to the spot near Harold\u2019s hind legs. It was new to me, another internal lump that felt hard and threatening. The last shreds of hope were disintegrating.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs there anything you could do?\u201d.<\/p>\n
\u201cI could send him for an X-ray, see if we could operate on it. But he\u2019s an old dog, he\u2019s very weak, and I wouldn\u2019t be surprised if we find other things that are wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo it\u2019s time for him to go to sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s for the best. If you want another day or two with him I can understand, and I could give him an injection to relieve the pain, but it would leave him dopey, not able to do anything. And I should warn you that his incontinence could get worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
He meant the sooner the better. I pressed my face onto Harold\u2019s head for a moment, ran a fingertip under his ear, then looked up and said: \u201cCan you do it now?\u201d<\/p>\n
The vet nodded and asked me to wait for a couple of minutes while he made arrangements. Harold slumped onto his stomach again and I crouched beside the table, massaging his jaw and earlobes and offering words of comfort he could never understand.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t you worry mate. We\u2019re going to take away that pain and you\u2019re going to have a nice big sleep. It\u2019s all going to be better.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked up at me, big sad eyes inflicting a spasm of guilt, moaned again then settled with his chin on the mat. The vet removed a glass vial and a couple of small white packages from a cupboard and turned his back to shield the putting together. Then he asked if I wanted to stay for the end, I nodded and held Harold as he slid a needle into a spot between the hind leg. My stomach tightened and I could feel my heart beating.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m taking a guess that he\u2019s not distressed, so we won\u2019t use a sedative,\u201d the vet said. \u201cI\u2019m just going to give him pentobarbital. It should shut down his heart and brain in less than a minute. Just tell me when you\u2019re ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
I lowered my face to stare directly at Harold, looked for a final word but found that all I could do was ruffle the spot between his ears and stare into his eyes. The sadness engulfed and clawed at a memory I was desperate to suppress. I looked towards the vet and nodded. As he fixed the vial to the catheter I felt a moment of fear, not wanting to look into Harold\u2019s eyes again, but made myself do so thinking that I owed it to him. Then I was back in my kitchen confronted by cousin Jamie\u2019s bad teeth.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve nicked \u2018em!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve put them in a safe place, until everyone gets to see her will.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBollocks to that! You just want \u2018em for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo why have you gone poking around her flat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI went in to help Aunt Lisa.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou never help anybody. You were out to see what you could grab without anyone noticing.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took a step towards me, a scrawny mess of bristle, bad breath and belligerence. I stood my ground and growled. It was common knowledge in the family that he often visited Aunt Mel, usually to tap her up for some tens or twenties to feed his habit. It was also common knowledge that she had kept some decent jewellery in a slim box under her bedroom cabinet, along with an envelope containing a do-it-yourself will. I had guessed on the day she died that if Jamie had a chance he would be in there, scooping up anything that could finance his next fix. That was why I had borrowed the key from my mum to transfer the box and will to the safe in my stair cupboard until we could get the family together. To my mind it was keeping things above board, and none of us knew what Mel had left to who; but Jamie\u2019s mind was way past thinking that anyone would ever play things straight. He straightened up, pushed back his shoulders and growled. I balled my fists. Then he smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright,\u201d he said. \u201cWe can split it. I\u2019ll keep quiet about you going in there and helping yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t helping myself, and my mum knows about it, and Aunt Lisa and Uncle Keith. They all agreed it was we should do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re lying.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can call them and ask.\u201d<\/p>\n
The snarl fell off his face and his eyes weltered in desperation and irrationality. Then something nudged at my leg and a slobbering bundle of fur padded between us. Jamie dragged Harold around in an effort to appear normal, and to scrounge scraps to feed the animal. I glanced up to see him clatter against a saucepan on the draining board. Harold nudged me again and I looked down to see pleading eyes and realised he was probably hungry. It crossed my mind that if I offered some food for the dog it might break the tension in the room, then I realised Jamie had opened a drawer and pulled out a serrated knife.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not arsing about.\u201d He pointed the knife towards my chin. \u201cYou\u2019re going to dig out that jewellery right now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen what?\u201d I asked. \u201cYou take it, I call the police, and you get nicked.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour word against mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd everyone knows you\u2019re a thieving junkie.\u201d<\/p>\n
He swung his arm, but he was slow and shakey and I was able to sway clear of the knife. Then I swung a hand to slap his forearm and push the weapon away. For a moment I stared into flaming eyes, then realised the knife was still in his hand. I skipped to his side, grabbed the saucepan and smacked him hard on the head. He went down, jerked a couple of times then rolled onto his side. I waited for him to groan or flap an arm, but then saw the blood running from his nose and watched as he remained still. A whimper came from under the table and Harold moved towards Jamie, sniffed at his face then looked up at me. I leaned over, shook Jamie\u2019s shoulder, rolled him over and recoiled from the stare of lifeless eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cShit!\u201d<\/p>\n
I spent minutes on a chair with head in hands, distracted once by a canine sigh and a glance that showed Harold sitting beside the body, staring at me with a confused mixture of abandonment and accusation. Then I thought about Jamie, the family waster who nobody would miss, and my van by in the car port by the front door. I took a canvass sheet and two extension leads from the storage cupboard, rolled the body over the sheet and wrapped it all up with the leads. Then I cleaned the blood from the floor, fending off Harold as he nuzzled at my arm, and waited until it got dark. It took the precaution of reversing the van so I only had to drag the body a few feet in the open to push it into the back, shut Harold in the kitchen and drove fifty miles to a deserted stretch of canal. I stifled the fear of being seen as I pulled the body from the van, slid it into the water and watched it sink; then felt the fear remain with me as I drove home.<\/p>\n
Harold was whimpering when I returned, but a bowl of corned beef and another of water brought him some comfort. I stayed up all night cleaning every inch of the kitchen, then off work the next day as I tried to straighten the mess in my head. For a few days I expected a knock on the door, someone asking if I knew anything about the disappearance of my scumbag cousin; but it didn\u2019t come. I began to think that nobody knew he had a reason to come banging at my door and the only loose end was Harold. So I told everybody that Jamie had come around, ranted and raved about my precaution with the will and jewellery, then stormed off in a filthy mood and left his dog behind. It matched what everybody thought about him, so nobody asked awkward questions and Harold became my dog.<\/p>\n
The dog that was now dipping its head towards me on the vet\u2019s table as I rubbed his forehead and the injection set in. He looked up at me and I was trapped by his eyes again: bewilderment, grief and that lingering sting of accusation. What have you done to my master?<\/em> Then his nose touched the mat, his neck twisted and he went limp. The vet waited a few seconds, slid a stethoscope under his chest and said: \u201cHe\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/p>\n He gave me five minutes in the room, staring at Harold\u2019s corpse, reminding myself this was the point at which I shed any guilt attached to my secret. It had all been about defending myself against a madman with a knife, nothing to do with a dog watching its master die. Except that I couldn\u2019t shake off that look in Harold\u2019s eyes. The vet returned to the room and said he would look after the body, and that I could sort out the fee with the receptionist. I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you OK?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI think so.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow long had you been together?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSix years.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe was older than that. Who had him before you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy cousin.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat happened. Couldn\u2019t he look after him?\u201d<\/p>\n I waited a moment. A simple \u2018Yes\u2019 would have been easy, and conclusive.<\/p>\n \u201cI killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n The vet\u2019s mouth twitched as if he was ready to laugh, but he kept his eyes on me and realised I wasn\u2019t joking.<\/p>\n \u201cHe was a thieving junkie. He threatened me with a knife so I hit him with a saucepan. It burst his brain and he died in my kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n The vet stiffened and stared at me, mostly shock but with a sprinkling of fright.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s been six years and you\u2019re the first person I\u2019ve told. I shouldn\u2019t have unloaded that on you.\u201d<\/p>\n He took a step backwards and relaxed a little, but struggled with his words.<\/p>\n \u201cYou seem to be distressed,\u201d he said. \u201cCan I do anything?\u201d<\/p>\n I thought for a moment.<\/p>\n \u201cJust tell me where I find the nearest police station.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Image by Billy Bob Bain, CC BY 2.0<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"