SUNNY
She was due to give birth any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Izzy, but to her family, she was simply Sunny. I cant remember who first called her by that odd yet affectionate name, but it stuck for good. So the dog lived with two namesone for her loved ones, the other for everyone else. And she didnt mindSunny it was, then. No harm done. Auntie Lucy, her owner, was the kindest soul, endlessly hospitable and gentle, utterly devoted to her four-legged child. The Rottweiler knew this and took full advantage of her softness.
Despite completing my “Basic Obedience Training” course and even passing her obedience exam with flying colours, Izzyor rather, Sunnywas allowed far too many liberties at home. She slept exclusively in bed with her owners, often disregarding all hospitality rules. By dawn, shed shove Uncle Jack, the man of the house, right off the mattress with her powerful paws, sprawl across the freed space, and snore loudly, finishing her slumber in peace. She ate like a proper family member at the kitchen table, resting her heavy head on Auntie Lucys lap. Occasionally, shed even swipe a tasty morsel straight from a plate without a shred of guilt. Her owners indulged her every whim, and at the slightest whimper or hint of discomfort, theyd rally half the town to her aid. This time was no different.
Back then, mobile phones were unheard of, but folks managed tricky situations with taxis and knowing where to find people. So when Auntie Lucy brought me to her flat to check on my four-legged patient, she triedas usualto keep her nerves in check. Sunny met us at the door, heavily pregnant but otherwise in perfect health, though breathing laboriously. No surprise thereshe was ready to pop. At a quick glance, I reckoned shed bless her owners with a dozen pups. No fewer.
“So?” Auntie Lucy asked anxiously, glancing at the dog. “Is it time?”
“Auntie Lucy,” I replied awkwardly, “let me at least take my coat off and wash my hands before examining her.”
Sunny, thrilled at the prospect of undivided attention, yipped, wagged her rump, and grinned with her massive muzzle. She wouldnt whelp for another twelve to fourteen hours. No complications or immediate concerns required my intervention, which I promptly reassured Auntie Lucy of.
“What?!” She flung her hands up. “Youre leaving us alone tonight? What if the pups come early? What if one gets stuck?” Her eyes froze in terror. Sensing her distress, Sunny whined and fixed me with a pleading stare.
“Ive told youshes fine. Shell deliver tomorrow, closer to noon.”
“Laura,” the elderly woman implored, “if anything happens to Sunny, I wont survive it. You remember when she was sick?” I nodded. “You remember when she nearly died?” Another nod. “I almost died with her. Do you want a repeat?” Her brows shot up accusingly.
Honestly, that time, her hysterics had terrified melying on the carpet beside her parvovirus-stricken pup as if her own life depended on it. Such panic over a dog? A first in my career. It took immense effort to calm her down enough to let me treat the actual patient. A repeat performance was the last thing I wanted.
“Right, then,” Auntie Lucy said, suddenly cheerful, pleased shed talked me into staying. She bustled off to the kitchen to make tea. Sunny, abruptly remembering her training, slunk to the hallwayher proper place, not the kitchen.
“Wheres Sunny?” Auntie Lucy fretted, noticing her absence. She rose and found the dog lying dejectedly on the mat, head on her paws.
“Sunny?” she called. The Rottweiler glanced up knowingly but didnt move.
“Oh,” Auntie Lucy realised, “youre scared of Laura, arent you? Mean old trainer, keeping you from the kitchen.” She laughed, light as a child.
I never ceased marveling at dogs cunning. Spoiled rotten at home, allowed every indulgenceyet here she was, recalling that trainers dont tolerate nonsense. Clever girl.
The flat was spacious by local standardstwo bright rooms facing south, on the second floor of a snug wooden house. After a light supper (forced into me by Auntie Lucys insistence), I was shown to the spare room. Next door, a proper bathroom with hot and cold watera luxury in our town back then, where winter often meant dry taps. I couldnt refuse such hospitality.
Steamy and relaxed after a shower, I stepped outonly to find Sunny waiting.
“Keeping an eye on me?” I asked sternly. She hesitated. “What does the mum-to-be want?” Her adoring gaze held mine.
Sunny bolted to the living room, where her owners sat, then glanced back as if asking permission to sleep in her usual spot. Crafty thing. But she changed her mind, trotting back to the hall. Later, Uncle Jack returned from work, and we resumed tea and chatter. Yet Sunny refused to sleep with them that night, much to their surprise.
Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky, poised to dump snow. The moon, already shy, vanished entirely. Winter, in short. By midnight, everyone retired. Sleep eluded meIm a night owlso I picked up a magazine from the nightstand. Eventually, my eyelids grew heavy, and I switched off the lamp, leaving the door ajar in case Sunny needed me.
Then, in the dead of night, pain strucksharp, searing, from neck to heart. My medicine bag was in the other room. The agony worsened, stealing my breath. Dizziness and weakness followed. I tried calling out, but my voice failed me. Sunny appeared at once, sensing trouble.
“Sunny,” I whispered weakly, clinging to hope, “fetch Lucy.”
She studied me, deliberated, then raced to her owners room. Scrabbling at the doorlockedshe returned, claws clicking frantically. Mission failing.
“Sunny. Open the door,” I begged, lips parched. The pain crescendoed. If I passed out now, I was done for.
On her third attempt, she rammed the door open with her bulk and roused Auntie Lucy, who sleepily muttered, “Need the loo already? Its early.” But Sunny persisted. Finally, Auntie Lucy roseonly to dress, leash the dog, and head for the front door.
I heard the struggleSunny digging in, resisting. It took strength to move such a beast. Then, a sudden yank, and Auntie Lucy stumbled back into the flat, still in her coat, bewildered.
“Laura, are you alright?” she gasped.
*No, Im just practising theatrics*, I thought bitterly. But the pain was real.
“My bag,” I managed.
Auntie Lucy dashed off, returning swiftly. “Should we call an ambulance? The neighbour has a phone.”
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the syringe. Time was criticalhelp me now, questions later. But my hands failed. Auntie Lucy snapped the vial, drew the dose, and I jabbed my thigh without flinching.
*If I live, Im getting checked out*, I vowed. Soon, the pain ebbed, colour returning to my cheeksso Auntie Lucy said, and she never lied. She stayed shaken, though. Over tea, I thanked my stubborn saviour. Dogs truly understand.
Sunny asked to go out repeatedly that night, dragging Auntie Lucy into the snow-laden dark. By noon, contractions began. My turn to help. Pup after plump pup arrived, their mother wide-eyed at her treasures. That stunned, heroic look never left my memory. Shed become a mumno small feat.
Shes long gone now, after a full life with those who adored her. Still, I think of her sometimesmy rescuer. Animals remember kindness. Do we? How often do we recall those whove saved us?
