My best friend Amy and I haven’t spoken in 3 months. It was probably to do with her new boyfriend, and the Uni she got into and the apartment she’s planning on moving into. Year 12 was long gone and she was starting a new life and leaving me behind.
Her Facebook posts for the last week sound a lot like this:
“Someone has stolen my 4-Year-old Jack Russel Terrier! Please anyone if you see him, call me, or my family, or the police. His name is Harry. Please, please, bring him home!”
I feel awful for her, even though she had told me she didn’t want to be friends anymore. Harry is a good puppy. I reach out to her, not expecting an answer.
Amy. I know you said you didn’t want to talk to me, but I wanted to make sure you were okay after losing harry?
I’m fine. I just want to find him.
Ok. Sorry to bother you.
It’s fine. It’s nice of you to ask.
I hate how formal it sounds. How disconnected. How strange.
Did you want any help looking for him?
I don’t know. We already have a pretty fair effort going. All I can do now is keep checking the pounds and hope he comes home.
Are you sure? I really want to help. I know what Harry means to you.
...
Please.
Ok.
Saturday, 7 am, I shower quickly, dry my hair, put on a strawberry red crop top with blue high waisted jeans.
I grab my keys, and shut my bedroom door, locking it.
My brother won’t be awake yet. I walk through the living room, and see Mum asleep on the couch, a half bottle of beer still in her hand. I take it off her. I walk out the door, to my Mum’s Hyundai, flip the red P plates on, and head towards my best friend’s house.
I see people out walking their dogs early. That’s where Amy and Harry would probably be if someone hadn’t nicked him.
I arrive at her house and see her already standing outside, dressed in a cap and her boyfriends’ shirt. I step out and meet her in a hug. She looks stressed and tearful.
“Thanks for coming over here, Tars,” She says, and I hold back a smile at my nickname. It wasn’t a good time to be smiling.
“Have you heard anything? Any news?” I ask, looking at her dark circled eyes. She shakes her head, crosses her arms over her chest and looks out into the street.
“Even if he did run, we haven’t heard anything from the neighborhood. There are two Jack Russel terriers at the pound. Neither of them had collars or microchips, so we need to go down and see if they’re Harry.”
I nod encouragingly and squeeze her shoulder. Her mouth twitches into a feeble smile, and she makes her way out of my grip to my car. I follow quickly after.
“No, that’s not him either,” Amy says, her voice becoming brittle with emotion. She turns away from the cage where some strangers dog was starring back at us with hopeful eyes. Amy’s own eyes were just as watery. The staff woman looked at us with sympathy and led us back through the door, away from the lost dogs.
In my car, Amy bit her lip and cried quietly. I had seen her cry only a handful of times during our friendship. One time when she broke her wrist playing basketball. One time when Grace Silvey called her a fat bitch in the playground of year eight. One time when the boyfriend she had broke up with her because he was moving states.
I tried to put my hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
“It’s okay, Amy,” I tried to soothe.
“I just want to go home,” She bit back. “I just want my dog back.”
We drove back in silence. At her house, I tried to speak again, but she was out of her seat before I had a chance. The car was silent, and I was by myself again.
I step through my front door at 1.30, to the angry look of my hungover mother, and the bewildered look of my little brother.
“What is it?” I ask tensely.
“You are in big trouble,” Mum seethes,“The neighbors came over complaining about the noise.”
“What noise?”
Just as it falls silent, I hear a loud bark coming from my room. I dash over to my door and quickly start unlocking it. Hearing my movement on the other side of my bedroom, Harry starts to yap, and scratch on my door.
“What are you doing, silly dog?” I whisper, bobbing down so I can step into the room.
My bedroom stank of shit and piss. Harry starts barking louder and louder.
“Shut up stupid dog!” I hiss trying to hold him. It was okay. I could fix this. I could clean the shit out of the carpet, and then turn up to Amy’s house claiming I had found him. It would still work.
Harry looks at me, beady dog eyes glinting in accusation. He knows what I have done.
Suddenly, his tiny body jolted alive with a shock of energy. He ran around my room for a circuit, before pushing open my poorly closed bedroom door.
“Stop!” I cried, watching as Mum opened the front door with her cigarette in her mouth and lighter in hand. Harry beelined past her and out onto the road.
I chase after him, hands outstretched, just touching the hairs of his tail before watching him run.
My heart beat painfully in my chest. I breathe heavily in, and heavily out, as the dog turns a corner and disappears.
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