LITMIR.BIZ

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small crack under the door and purposefully sat down, appealing to Heather with his large, brown eyes.

      “Great,” thought Heather, wishing to go back to bed. She glanced at her phone one more time, sighed, and walked over to her bedroom door, cracking it slightly to allow Zak through first.

      Heather yawned and wiggled her toes to keep them warm as she filled the kettle with water and set it on its base to boil. Zak busied himself with his routine of sniffing the kitchen floor for any crumbs or delicious morsels of food which may have evaded the dustpan and brush. He pawed under the oven and pulled from beneath it a forgotten pig’s ear chew. Heather chuckled to herself as Zak proudly strutted to the living room with his dust-covered prize. He jumped up onto the sofa and circled twice before he plopped his body down and began inspecting his chew.

      Heather sprinkled some chai leaves into her favourite green teapot and slowly added the boiling water, enjoying how the tea leaves swirled and began to change the colour of the water. Glancing up at the window above the sink, she could see that the snow was still falling heavily. Her thoughts turned to her day ahead, and she considered which route would be the best for her to drive to work.

      She poured some of the chai tea into a mug and took a long, warming sip.

      Having lost interest in his chew, which was now on the floor, Zak had instead turned his attention to chasing his tail, his soft, round mouth reaching back over his body to capture the most elusive of his limbs. Heather watched as her senior dog trampled her sofa cushions and caught a glimpse of his aged and discoloured teeth—teeth which she had been so afraid of as a child.

      Heather crossed the kitchen into the living room and settled onto the plush sofa next to Zak. He was now clumsily slumped over on his side, mouthing one of his back feet, having given up on his tail.

      “Come here, you marshmallow!” sighed Heather, patting her free hand on her thigh.

      Zak heaved his compact body up and plonked himself against her lap. He rested his heavy head on her knee and let out a long exhalation—the kind some might think of as a sign of boredom, but in reality was blissful contentment. Heather stroked his silky triangular ears and raised her teacup to her mouth as her eyes shifted focus to a picture frame perched on the windowsill. It was an old, cherished photo which showed her mother, father, brother, and herself as a young girl. Her gaze rested on the cheeky grin of her father’s face. She missed him every day, but the holidays were always especially difficult. She closed her eyes and tried her best to remember the sound of his voice and his infectious laughter.

      As a child, Heather had mostly lived under the firm but fair rule of her mother, Joan, a capable, no-nonsense kind of woman who, with a single raised eyebrow or lash of her sharp tongue, could make the toughest Scotsman cower in fear. Although she was a formidable woman, she was always a tender and nurturing mother to her two children and expertly handled all of her roles as the primary carer, breadwinner, and disciplinarian in their small family home. Heather’s father, Steve, was a kind and lively man. Beloved by many, he was always the life and soul of a party. Despite the deep age lines etched on his face, it wasn’t hard to see that, in his youth, Steve would have made all of the women in town weak at the knees.

      Although Steve was as warm and loving as a father could be, his body had begun to suffer irrevocably from the effects of liver disease, and both he and Joan had decided that it would be kindest to their children if he were to move back into his mother’s home, which was only a short distance away.

      Despite living away from their father during the week, neither Heather nor her younger brother Thomas noticed that their family was any different from anyone else’s. On the weekends, their mother would dress them in their best sweaters, and together the three of them would walk the short distance to their grandmother’s house to visit their father. He would always swing open the front door enthusiastically, and welcome Heather and her brother with huge bear hugs and lots of kisses. They’d enjoy their time together, kicking footballs around the garden and playing games of hide-and-seek. Their grandmother would cook the most delicious roast dinners with Yorkshire puddings, and after supper they’d each pick out a sweet treat and cuddle up on the sofa to watch a Disney film.

      This familiar, comforting routine would faithfully repeat itself every week, come rain, shine, or snow, but as the seasons passed and Heather grew to become more curious and aware of the world around her, she began to notice a change in her father.

      During their weekend visits, their grandmother would often become the smiling face to greet them at the door when they arrived. Their father wouldn’t want to play outdoors as much, and some weeks, Heather would notice that he would wear the same clothes, or wouldn’t have shaved his face, making him appear frighteningly aged. His jokes and laughter became distant memories, lost in happier times, and, increasingly, Heather would be encouraged by her mother to have weekend sleepovers with her friends, or to spend more time with other family members.

      One Saturday morning, Joan sat down with Heather and Thomas and softly explained to them that their father had been feeling extremely low which was why they hadn’t been able to see as much of him lately. Heather nodded dutifully as her mother expressed how she felt he might benefit from having some more constant company such as a dog or cat. That very afternoon, Heather, along with her mother and brother, drove the short distance to the local dog rescue to find a suitable pet for their father.

      The dog viewing room was frighteningly loud and filled with dogs of all shapes, colours, and sizes. Some of adoptable dogs had extensive notes and background information attached to the clipboards which hung on the outside of their pens. Others simply had pieces of paper with the words “Adopted,” or “Undergoing Evaluation” scribbled on.

      Heather felt a pang of sorrow as she passed a pen containing a huge, emaciated-looking German Shepherd, and another pen containing an assortment of Jack Russell terriers, Chihuahua mixes, and a small, tear-stained Shih Tzu with a snaggle tooth.

      “Aww! This one is so cute and looks so sad, Mummy,” whined Heather as she crouched down and extended her small fingers through the bars of the pen. Immediately, the tiny Shih Tzu let out an ear-splitting shriek and bolted toward the back of the pen. It hid beneath one of the elevated dog beds where it continued to yowl, sending the rest of its cage-mates into an excited frenzy of barking and jumping. Heather stumbled backward in fright and clung to her mother’s coat.

      “That’s not the right dog for you,” came the deep voice of a kennel technician from inside another pen. “She’s not good around children. She’s going to need a very quiet, experienced home to help her with her confidence.”

      Heather felt her mother’s firm, reassuring hand grasp her shoulder, and together they continued along the rows of home-seeking dogs.

      “Hey! What about this one?” came Thomas’s voice from the far end of the viewing room.

      At the back of the pen was a small, fawn-coloured Staffordshire Bull Terrier with ears that resembled crumpled autumn leaves. His brown, expressive eyes were alert, but friendly, and as Heather and Joan approached, he stood up from his bed, stretched, and bounded toward the front of the pen to greet them enthusiastically.

      Thomas stuck his little hand into the enclosure, and the chubby puppy licked and mouthed his hand gently while pawing at his sleeve.

      “Now that’s a great dog for you,” said the kennel technician brightly as he came over to join them. “He was found as a stray, but he’s very friendly. He’s young, so he’s very trainable, and he tested safe around children and other dogs. He’s a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, but don’t let the ‘Bull’ part put you off. Staffies are great family dogs and can adapt to almost any lifestyle.”

      Heather scrunched her face up as both her mother and brother fawned over the energetic puppy. She was unnerved at the sight of the huge, toothy grin the dog seemed to be giving.

      “Daddy, daddy! We got you a present!” exclaimed Thomas as he and his mother carried Zak’s crate and a bag of pet supplies into the house.

      Heather watched quietly from the safety of the sofa as the boisterous puppy zoomed around the living and bulldozed

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