**JUNIE**
She was due to give birth any day now. A massive three-year-old Rottweiler named Izzybut to those who loved her, she was simply Junie. I cant remember who first called her by that odd, affectionate nickname, but it stuck firmly. So the dog lived with two names: one for her inner circle, the other for everyone else. And she didnt mindJunie it was, then. No harm done.
Auntie Margaret, her owner, was the kindest soulwarm, hospitable, and endlessly doting on her beloved pet. Izzy knew this and took full advantage. Despite having completed her obedience training with meeven passing her exams with flying coloursshe allowed herself plenty of liberties under her owners lenient watch. She slept exclusively in their bed, often shoving Uncle Henry onto the floor at dawn with her powerful paws before sprawling across his spot, snoring loudly. She ate like a proper member of the family at the kitchen table, resting her heavy head on Auntie Margarets lap. Sometimes, shed shamelessly steal a bite right off 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. This time was no different.
Back then, mobile phones didnt exist. But people managedknowing where to find someone and relying on taxis to get them out of sticky situations. So when Auntie Margaret brought me to her home, she tried to keep her composure. Junie met us at the doornoticeably rounder, breathing heavily but otherwise in perfect health. By my quick estimate, she was due to deliver a good dozen puppies. No fewer.
Well? Auntie Margaret asked anxiously, glancing at the dog. Is it time?
Auntie, I said, slightly flustered, let me at least take my coat off and wash my hands before I examine her.
Junie, thrilled at the prospect of attention, yelped gleefully, wagging her tail and grinning with her massive muzzle. Labour was still hours awaytwelve to fourteen, at least. No complications warranted my immediate concern, which I quickly assured Auntie Margaret of.
What? she gasped. Youre leaving us alone tonight? What if the puppies come early? What if one gets stuck? Her eyes froze in fear. Sensing it, Junie whimpered and stared at me pleadingly.
Shes fine, I repeated. Shell deliver by midday tomorrow.
Laura, Auntie Margaret begged, if anything happens to Junie, I wont survive it. You remember how ill she was? I nodded. You remember how she nearly died? Another nod. I almost died with her. Do you want a repeat? Her raised eyebrows demanded an answer.
Truthfully, her hysterics during Junies bout with parvovirus had unnerved mecurled up on the carpet beside her dying pup, reacting as if the world were ending. It had taken immense effort to calm her enough to let me treat the dog. I wasnt eager for a repeat.
Fine, I conceded.
Auntie Margaret, relieved, bustled off to make tea. Suddenly, Junie remembered her training. A well-mannered dog didnt belong in the kitchen but near the front door.
Wheres Junie? Auntie Margaret fretted, noticing her absence. She hurried into the hallway to find the dog slumped on her mat, head on her paws.
Junie?
The dog glanced up knowingly but didnt move.
Ah, Auntie Margaret realised, chuckling. Youre scared of Laura, arent you? She wont let you in the kitchenstrict teacher!
I marvelled at dogs cleverness. Spoiled daily, permitted every indulgenceyet here she was, recalling discipline under my watch. Clever girl.
Their flat was spacious by local standardstwo bright rooms facing south, perched on the second floor of a cosy wooden house. After a light supper (eaten more out of politeness than hunger), I was shown to the guest room. The bathroom had hot watera luxury in our town back thenso I accepted the offer gratefully.
Fresh from a shower, I stepped outonly to find Junie waiting.
Keeping an eye on me? I asked sternly. She hesitated. What does our expectant mother want? I pressed.
She bolted towards the living room, where her owners sat, then glanced back as if asking permission to join them. Cheeky thing. But at the last second, she returned to the hallway.
Later, Uncle Henry arrived from work. More tea, more chatter. Junie refused to sleep in their room that nightmuch to their surprise.
Outside, a blizzard brewed. Clouds smothered the sky, threatening snow. The moon vanished before it could properly rise. Winter, in all its glory.
By midnight, everyone retired. Sleep evaded meIve always been a night owl. A magazine from the bedside table kept me company until my eyelids grew heavy. Switching off the lamp, I settled in, leaving the door ajarjust in case.
Then, pain struck.
It started at my neck, searing down to my heart. My medical bag was in the other room. The agony worsenedstanding was impossible. Breath came in shallow gasps. Dizziness and weakness set in. I tried calling for Auntie Margaret, but my voice failed me.
Junie appeared.
Junie, I whispered, desperate. Fetch Margaret.
The dog studied me, deliberated, then sprinted off. I heard her scratching at their doorlocked. Bad luck. She returned, frantic.
Junie, I urged, my lips dry, open the door. Open it.
On her third attempt, she shoved it ajar with her weight. She bounded to Auntie Margaret, nudging her awake.
Junie, need the loo? Its early, came the sleepy reply.
Junie persisted. Finally, Auntie Margaret rosebut instead of coming to me, she dressed, clipped on Junies lead, and headed for the door.
I heard the scuffle. Junie dug in, resisting. With a sudden tug, she dragged Auntie Margaretstill in her coatback to me.
Bewildered, Auntie Margaret gaped at me, then the dog. Lauraare you ill?
No, Im just joking, I thought bitterly. But the pain was real.
My bag, I managed.
Auntie Margaret dashed off, returning with it. Should we call an ambulance? The neighbour has a phone.
Ignoring her, I fumbled for the syringe. Time was criticalif I could help myself, I would. But my hands failed me. Auntie Margaret stepped in, snapping the ampoule, drawing the dose. I injected my thigh without flinching.
If I survive, Im getting checked, I vowed.
The pain ebbed. Colour returned to my cheeksor so Auntie Margaret said. She stared, shaken, as we drank tea in the kitchen later, thanking Junie for her stubbornness.
Dogs have intellect.
Sleep was lost. Junie, ever the lady, asked to go out repeatedly, tracking snow inside each time. By eleven the next morning, her contractions began. Now it was my turn to help.
One by one, sturdy, squashed-faced pups arrived. Izzy stared at them, utterly bewildered. That stunned, heroic mothers gaze stayed with me forever.
Shes long gone nowa life well-lived, loved deeply. But I still think of her sometimes. Animals remember kindness. Do we? How often do we recall those whove saved us?
