a little of the water. His head came back, tongue out and a look curiously like a lopsided grin spread across his face. Blaze nodded encouragingly, and the animal investigated the food bowl, touching the crunchy pieces with his nose until satisfied they weren’t dangerous. He took a cautious mouthful, chomped, looked at Blaze and swallowed. Within moments, he’d emptied both bowls and sat back, tongue lolling and tail flicking.
‘Better?’ Blaze crouched down in front of the dog and let him sniff her hand. A rough tongue swiped her skin, making her laugh. ‘I guess that means you want seconds, huh? Just a minute.’
In the kitchen, she grabbed the bag of food and filled a jug with water. Again the bowls were empty within minutes, and she replenished his water once more, but withheld the food. ‘Don’t want to turn you into a pig,’ she said, daring a soft stroke of his side. He twitched and growled, and it was then that Blaze realised the cause of his strange gait. His rear left leg was scraped raw, enough to be uncomfortable.
Sitting back on her heels, she wondered what to do. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar, and there was no point trying to find a vet tonight, even if she could persuade the dog into the car, which was unlikely. At the same time, she didn’t want to have her hand bitten off if she tried to clean the wound.
Still, it wasn’t fair to leave an animal with an obvious injury, so although she was already imagining sharp canine teeth on her fingers, she went to get a bowl of warm water. Gram’s old first-aid kit yielded an ancient bottle of antiseptic lotion – intended for humans, but it was all she could find – and a bandage. Under the kitchen sink, she located a pair of thick leather work gloves, far too big, but they’d give her hands some protection if the dog decided to nip her. On impulse, she also pulled a bone from the frozen pack and left it out to thaw.
‘Okay, now if this hurts, don’t blame me,’ she said to the dog.
With a soft cloth from Gram’s ragbag, she dipped it into the warm water, wrung it out, and ran it gently along the healthy part of the dog’s leg down to the wound. He flinched and whined but didn’t snarl. More confidently, Blaze gently cleaned around the wound, eventually pressing the cloth to the raw patch. The dog yelped and half rose, before sinking down again. When she’d finished, Blaze pressed a fresh cloth to the wound, and tied the bandage firmly around his leg.
‘Okay, the hard bit’s over. Now you get a treat.’
Taking the first-aid supplies back into the kitchen, Blaze collected the bone. Gram didn’t believe in microwaves, so Blaze finished the defrosting process with a pan of warm water. When she returned to the veranda, the dog was making his way cautiously to the steps. He turned back to look at her, and when she approached, he gave her hand another lick.
‘You’re welcome. And look what I’ve got.’ She showed him the bone, and then placed it on the floor.
The dog actually licked his lips, making her laugh, and then pounced on it, gripping it firmly in his mouth. His tail wagged, and then he trotted towards the waterhole until the night swallowed him up.
For long minutes, Blaze stood there staring into the dark as moths clinked against the light and the moon shone high and white.
Even though he wasn’t her dog, she had to call him something, didn’t she? Especially as she was pretty certain he’d come calling again.
‘Paddy,’ she said to the night. ‘That’s what I’ll call you. After Gramps.’
It wasn’t until she went smiling to her attic bed that night that Blaze realised she was actually happy. And she couldn’t even remember how long it had been since she’d felt that way.
The phone rang, startling Blaze from a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep. More than a week had passed since she’d arrived back in Queensland, and the change of location, the hot, exhausting days and undemanding company of Paddy had
‘Better?’ Blaze crouched down in front of the dog and let him sniff her hand. A rough tongue swiped her skin, making her laugh. ‘I guess that means you want seconds, huh? Just a minute.’
In the kitchen, she grabbed the bag of food and filled a jug with water. Again the bowls were empty within minutes, and she replenished his water once more, but withheld the food. ‘Don’t want to turn you into a pig,’ she said, daring a soft stroke of his side. He twitched and growled, and it was then that Blaze realised the cause of his strange gait. His rear left leg was scraped raw, enough to be uncomfortable.
Sitting back on her heels, she wondered what to do. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar, and there was no point trying to find a vet tonight, even if she could persuade the dog into the car, which was unlikely. At the same time, she didn’t want to have her hand bitten off if she tried to clean the wound.
Still, it wasn’t fair to leave an animal with an obvious injury, so although she was already imagining sharp canine teeth on her fingers, she went to get a bowl of warm water. Gram’s old first-aid kit yielded an ancient bottle of antiseptic lotion – intended for humans, but it was all she could find – and a bandage. Under the kitchen sink, she located a pair of thick leather work gloves, far too big, but they’d give her hands some protection if the dog decided to nip her. On impulse, she also pulled a bone from the frozen pack and left it out to thaw.
‘Okay, now if this hurts, don’t blame me,’ she said to the dog.
With a soft cloth from Gram’s ragbag, she dipped it into the warm water, wrung it out, and ran it gently along the healthy part of the dog’s leg down to the wound. He flinched and whined but didn’t snarl. More confidently, Blaze gently cleaned around the wound, eventually pressing the cloth to the raw patch. The dog yelped and half rose, before sinking down again. When she’d finished, Blaze pressed a fresh cloth to the wound, and tied the bandage firmly around his leg.
‘Okay, the hard bit’s over. Now you get a treat.’
Taking the first-aid supplies back into the kitchen, Blaze collected the bone. Gram didn’t believe in microwaves, so Blaze finished the defrosting process with a pan of warm water. When she returned to the veranda, the dog was making his way cautiously to the steps. He turned back to look at her, and when she approached, he gave her hand another lick.
‘You’re welcome. And look what I’ve got.’ She showed him the bone, and then placed it on the floor.
The dog actually licked his lips, making her laugh, and then pounced on it, gripping it firmly in his mouth. His tail wagged, and then he trotted towards the waterhole until the night swallowed him up.
For long minutes, Blaze stood there staring into the dark as moths clinked against the light and the moon shone high and white.
Even though he wasn’t her dog, she had to call him something, didn’t she? Especially as she was pretty certain he’d come calling again.
‘Paddy,’ she said to the night. ‘That’s what I’ll call you. After Gramps.’
It wasn’t until she went smiling to her attic bed that night that Blaze realised she was actually happy. And she couldn’t even remember how long it had been since she’d felt that way.
The phone rang, startling Blaze from a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep. More than a week had passed since she’d arrived back in Queensland, and the change of location, the hot, exhausting days and undemanding company of Paddy had
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