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Authors: Cathy Woodman
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other animals.’
‘It could happen,’ my aunt insists. ‘In all the years I’ve been on the committee, it’s never been this bad. Look at the dog you took to Otter House.’
‘What about him?’ I feel a frisson of panic. ‘I thought he was fully recovered and ready to go home.’
‘He hasn’t got a home, he’s fit and healthy, and he’s stuck at Otter House.’
‘It’s been three weeks.’ Guilty for thinking of my own troubles and forgetting about the dog, I recall the soft expression in his eyes and the beat of his tail against the front of the cage when I dropped in to the vet’s to see how he was a few days after the wedding.
‘Wendy, our foster carer, offered to take him in, even though she has her full complement, a complete pack, but he tried to kill them all, so Maz had to take him back. She’s rung round all the other rescue charities and put him on their waiting lists, but for now, he’s …’ Fifi pauses. ‘Well, I suppose you’d call it kennel-blocking, taking up a bed that could be used for a sick patient. With that and his history of being a danger to other animals, I’m worried he’s going to end up on Death Row, or the equivalent. Apparently, he’s a strange dog. He’s two or three years old at a guess, and because he’s a Staffordshire bull terrier type, he’ll be hard to rehome because of their association with pit bulls and other fighting dogs. You see, Tessa, that’s where you come in. That poor dog needs your help – and he isn’t the only one.’
‘Look, this is all a bit sudden,’ I say, torn. ‘I do need time to think, Fifi. I can’t give you a decision tomorrow – give me a few days.’
‘I know you’ll want to talk it through with other people, but I could really do with an answer as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll have a chat with Mum and Dad,’ I tell her, but by the time Fifi’s dropped me home after some dinner with my uncle at their house, my parents have gone out for a meal with friends.
I wait up for them for a while, making lists of the pros and cons of taking up Fifi’s offer, and keen to share my news, but they don’t arrive back until after midnight, by which time I’ve just fallen asleep. My mother decides to make pancakes with golden syrup, and my father knocks on my door to announce the fact.
‘Come and join us, Tessa,’ he shouts. ‘No more hiding in your room like a princess in the tower.’
‘Dad, you’ve woken me up,’ I say, pulling the duvet up over my head. Suddenly, the Sanctuary appeals to me, a rural and isolated spot where I can retreat and find some space to think, somewhere that gives me a reason to get up in the mornings, somewhere I can make a difference, but I do join my parents in the kitchen over pancakes and a nightcap and discuss my options.
‘I don’t know what you were doing anyway, giving up your job like that.’ Mum pours herself a second small brandy. She’s changed into a white robe acquired from a stay in a hotel and pink fluffy moccasin slippers.
‘I didn’t give it up – it gave me up.’ It was maternity cover, so I knew it wasn’t going to last, although in my optimism I imagined there would be some way I could stay on.
‘I’m referring to the job before that one, Tessa,’ Mum says sternly while Dad tosses the last pancake and fails to catch it, an action that results in loud guffaws of laughter and much clowning around with a bowl of suds and a mop. His laughter is infectious, and soon I ’m laughing too, which gives me welcome respite from my preoccupations with money, or lack or it, and the uncertainty over my future.
I need a roof over my head and to work, but should I stay with what I know, vet nursing, or take a chance and accept the position at the Sanctuary?
Chapter Four
Horses for Courses
THE NEXT DAY , Saturday, I call Katie and arrange to meet for a drink in the afternoon.
‘Where are you off to, Tess?’ Dad asks, looking up from the paper as I grab my shoes
‘It could happen,’ my aunt insists. ‘In all the years I’ve been on the committee, it’s never been this bad. Look at the dog you took to Otter House.’
‘What about him?’ I feel a frisson of panic. ‘I thought he was fully recovered and ready to go home.’
‘He hasn’t got a home, he’s fit and healthy, and he’s stuck at Otter House.’
‘It’s been three weeks.’ Guilty for thinking of my own troubles and forgetting about the dog, I recall the soft expression in his eyes and the beat of his tail against the front of the cage when I dropped in to the vet’s to see how he was a few days after the wedding.
‘Wendy, our foster carer, offered to take him in, even though she has her full complement, a complete pack, but he tried to kill them all, so Maz had to take him back. She’s rung round all the other rescue charities and put him on their waiting lists, but for now, he’s …’ Fifi pauses. ‘Well, I suppose you’d call it kennel-blocking, taking up a bed that could be used for a sick patient. With that and his history of being a danger to other animals, I’m worried he’s going to end up on Death Row, or the equivalent. Apparently, he’s a strange dog. He’s two or three years old at a guess, and because he’s a Staffordshire bull terrier type, he’ll be hard to rehome because of their association with pit bulls and other fighting dogs. You see, Tessa, that’s where you come in. That poor dog needs your help – and he isn’t the only one.’
‘Look, this is all a bit sudden,’ I say, torn. ‘I do need time to think, Fifi. I can’t give you a decision tomorrow – give me a few days.’
‘I know you’ll want to talk it through with other people, but I could really do with an answer as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll have a chat with Mum and Dad,’ I tell her, but by the time Fifi’s dropped me home after some dinner with my uncle at their house, my parents have gone out for a meal with friends.
I wait up for them for a while, making lists of the pros and cons of taking up Fifi’s offer, and keen to share my news, but they don’t arrive back until after midnight, by which time I’ve just fallen asleep. My mother decides to make pancakes with golden syrup, and my father knocks on my door to announce the fact.
‘Come and join us, Tessa,’ he shouts. ‘No more hiding in your room like a princess in the tower.’
‘Dad, you’ve woken me up,’ I say, pulling the duvet up over my head. Suddenly, the Sanctuary appeals to me, a rural and isolated spot where I can retreat and find some space to think, somewhere that gives me a reason to get up in the mornings, somewhere I can make a difference, but I do join my parents in the kitchen over pancakes and a nightcap and discuss my options.
‘I don’t know what you were doing anyway, giving up your job like that.’ Mum pours herself a second small brandy. She’s changed into a white robe acquired from a stay in a hotel and pink fluffy moccasin slippers.
‘I didn’t give it up – it gave me up.’ It was maternity cover, so I knew it wasn’t going to last, although in my optimism I imagined there would be some way I could stay on.
‘I’m referring to the job before that one, Tessa,’ Mum says sternly while Dad tosses the last pancake and fails to catch it, an action that results in loud guffaws of laughter and much clowning around with a bowl of suds and a mop. His laughter is infectious, and soon I ’m laughing too, which gives me welcome respite from my preoccupations with money, or lack or it, and the uncertainty over my future.
I need a roof over my head and to work, but should I stay with what I know, vet nursing, or take a chance and accept the position at the Sanctuary?
Chapter Four
Horses for Courses
THE NEXT DAY , Saturday, I call Katie and arrange to meet for a drink in the afternoon.
‘Where are you off to, Tess?’ Dad asks, looking up from the paper as I grab my shoes
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