The Labrador Next Door

I was a week shy of my 10th birthday, the day I broke into my neighbours’ property and absconded with their dog.

It was one of the hottest summer days ever recorded; an absolutely scorching, searing heat. Everyone who could was sheltered indoors, huddled as close as possible to their air conditioners and fans.

Everyone except Kipto.

I first noticed him at around 8am that morning, as I let our two dogs out of the cool house for a run around our backyard. Whilst they rolled in the grass and enthusiastically scratched up their favourite patches of earth, I glanced over the low wall into our neighbours' yard.

It was always a desolate scene, but today, in the height of summer, it was even more so. There were no trees or shrubs, just a square patch of beige dirt. Any grass that used to grow was long dead. In the middle of that hot, barren yard, chained to a stake in the ground, lay Kipto.

I felt my heart drop at the sight of the year old chocolate Labrador there again. He was stretched out in the dirt, panting. He had clearly been there a while, judging from how many times the chain attached to his collar was wound around the wooden stake. As though he’d paced and paced and paced in so many circles. I raised myself up on to my tippy-toes to get a better view over the wall.

“Hey boy,” I called softly, “Hey Kipto.”

At the sound of my voice, Kipto shot to his feet; eyes excited, tail wagging. He made to rush towards me, but that brutal chain pulled him up short after just two steps. Kipto rose up on his two hind legs, straining towards me. He knocked aside his water bowl, and as it rolled away I realised it was utterly filthy. And bone dry.

An ugly feeling crept into my belly.

“One sec boy,” I called. I strode over to our garden hose, quickly turning it on. I aimed the hose over our wall, and into his water bowl, using the weight of the jet to right the tipped-over container. Delighted, Kipto jumped back and started barking. He raced to his bowl, trying to catch the jets of water in his mouth, determined to gobble up this water monster. His tail wagged side to side furiously, taking his entire backside along with it. I couldn't help but laugh at his utter joy. I alternated between filling up his bowl, and spraying the wriggling chocolate pup.

Eventually I shut off the water. I hesitated by the wall, looking at the neighbours' house. Despite all of the barking and laughter, there had been no movement from inside. No sign anyone was home. I gnawed at my lower lip, considering what to do.

Did the neighbours know how hot it was out here?

"Olivia," Mom called from the patio door, "Olivia come inside, it's breakfast time, and it's too hot out here. Bring the dogs."

I frowned. I didn't want to leave Kipto like that. But his owners would take him inside soon soon, they had to. Right? And I'd keep checking on him. To make sure he was ok. He would be ok.

I grabbed a bag of his favourite treats, the ones I'd been sneaking him over the wall when his owners were out, and tossed him a handful. And then another.

I checked my watch, 8:23am. I'd check back at 9.

At 9:01 the neighbours' house was still dark, quiet. Maybe they were still asleep? They must still be asleep. No way they'd just leave him tied up outside if they were awake and knew how hot it was.

I refilled Kipto's water bowl, and trudged back inside. My stomach felt oddly tense.

At 10am, I let our dogs out to play in the garden again, and hurried over to the wall. I squeezed through the thick shrubbery that bordered our garden, and hauled myself up on to the sun-warmed bricks.

Kipto was lying on his side again, panting. At the noise of my approach he opened an eye, and cocked an ear. His tail wagged half-heartedly against the dirty. But he made no move to get up. That thick, heavy chain lay coiled around him, an ugly grey serpent against the dark chocolate of his fur.

Still no movement from inside the house. I frowned.

Our neighbours had bought Kipto about 9 months ago, when he was a tiny, wriggling puppy. They were utterly delighted at how small and cute he was. As Kipto had grown over the last year, however, they’d grown tired of him. They even seemed angry at his ever-increasing energy levels. As the months past they spent less and less time with him, often leaving the pup locked up inside and alone for long periods of time. He hadn't liked that, and who could blame him? After one episode where he’d ripped a couch pillow to shreds after being left alone for almost a full day he was completely banned from the house. He'd spent every day since chained in the yard. Like he was now.

But none of the other days had been as hot as today.

They had to be home, and awake by now. Maybe they had no idea that Kipto was baking. Surely they'd come take him inside if they knew. Any person would. They just didn't know.

I had to let them know.

But the idea of going to knock on their door filled me with dread. At 9 years old I was cripplingly shy, especially when it came to speaking to adults.

I slunk back off the wall, and stood in the garden for a moment, considering. My eyes landed on the hose, and I had an idea. For a 9 year old who would do anything to get out of speaking to adults, it seemed like a brilliant one.

I grabbed the hose and I positioned myself by the wall, out of sight of where Mom was in the kitchen. My heart rate sped up. Sneaking a glance over my shoulder I turned the hose on full blast, and took aim. The water arced from the pipe nozzle, and flew, straight and true, right at the neighbours' back porch door.

Splat! The water squelched hard against the glass. It was so loud. My hands shook slightly, and the water trail moved haphazardly across the porch door and wall.

Not a sound from inside the house.

Oh god, what if they were still asleep and they got angry at me for waking them up? What if they came out, and confronted me?

I snapped the hose off.

I'd give them another little while, just a little. They'd be there. They wouldn't have left him alone.

Nobody would leave their dog chained up like that on such a hot day.

I quietly sprayed Kipto with some cool water, tossed him a few more treats, and slunk back inside. My muddy footprints left dirty, grassy smears all over the white house tiles. Somehow they felt incriminating. Like I'd done something wrong.

I tried to ignore how hollow my belly felt. How my very heart seemed to be pounding in my head.

10:30 came and went, then 11am. Nothing. Mom came to stand with me on our back deck, and stared at Kipto with pursed lips. Our dogs, delighted at having both of us in the garden, jumped around, barking.

It was hard not to contrast the two backyard scenes. Bare, brown, Kipto all alone, and then ours: lush, green, Sasha and Penny playing tug with their favourite rope toy.

Mom helped me refill the water bowl, and held me close as we walked back inside. Her arm around my shoulder was comforting, but that ugly, uneasy feeling in my belly twisted.

I paced restlessly inside the house. I couldn't read, I couldn't watch TV. How could I?

11:30 came, and the air seemed to scorch my skin the very second I stepped outside. Breathing was hard. My throat hurt. Kipto barely looked at me as I hosed him down. He just lay there, panting. I called to him, threw him a treat, and he didn't look up. His eyes closed slowly, and his panting seemed to slow.

He didn't even try to reach for the treats. They were his favourite treats...

I stared at the chocolate labrador, looking so small in the sea of dead beige. So utterly alone. The ugly feeling reared up inside me, so severe I thought I might be sick. I snapped.

I turned on my heel, marched through the house, and out of the front door. Not daring to let myself pause, to let myself think of what I was doing, I strode up to the neighbours' front door and began to bang on it with my fists.

The loud knocks against solid black wood reverberated and echoed. No answer. So I knocked harder. Every unanswered collision of my small fist against the big, heavy door made me angrier, and angrier, until I was pounding both fists as fast as I could.

Nothing.

They could not still be asleep.

I don't know how long I stood there, hammering on the door. My arms and fists began to hurt. And still the loud thumps echoed, to no answer. Incredulity slid through me, breaking up the red haze of anger I felt. Had our neighbours actually left their home, with Kipto tied up like that? Surely not… Surely not.

And yet, what if they had? What if they had truly left him alone, tied up, without water, in this heat? My 9 year old brain struggled to comprehend this. It went against every single thing I knew. A pet was a responsibility, they were family, you didn't leave them alone. How could someone do this? How could someone just abandon their dog?

An image of Kipto, lying so still in the hot sun, refusing to even sniff the offered treat, flashed through my head. I felt a sob swell in my throat, and I blinked the panicked tears away furiously.

I glanced at my watch. Nearly midday. It had been four hours since I’d first spied him, and god knows how many hours since he’d first been tied up. It was too hot. He needed help. Panic shot through me. I slammed my fist into the door again, and again.

“Hello?” I yelled, “Is anyone there? Your dog needs help. Hello!” My voice cracked at the end, panic threatening to overwhelm me.

Still no answer. Nothing. Those horrible people weren't home. They'd left Kipto alone. They'd actually left him. And he needed help, now. I had to help him.

I'd already waited too long.

I turned, bolting back through my home, through the glass doors to the yard, yelling over my shoulder to Mom. My voice cracked and cracked.

Outside, Kipto lay still; a small, defenceless chocolate shape tied to an ugly chain. He didn't move at all. God, it was so hot. Blood pounded in my ears. I sprinted for the garden wall and squeezed through the thick hedges on our side of the barrier, ignoring as the thorns scratched and tore at my skin.

“Olivia!” I heard Mom call from behind, as she ran out after me.“Olivia what are you doing?”

“He needs help,” I yelled. Panic and anger pumped through me. “I’m getting him!”

I ignored the thorns digging into my skin, and the blood that began to trickle down my arms. I reached the wall, and without giving myself a second to reconsider, I heaved myself over it into the neighbours' property.

I landed in the dirt, sprawling. The ground was hot as fire, burning my knees and palms. I didn’t let myself think. Adrenaline coursed through me. I picked myself up, and hurtled across to where Kipto lay still. He half opened one eye to watch me, and his tail wagged weakly. Once. He didn't raise his head. He couldn’t raise his head.

I had never felt such a fear as I did then. A great, heavy hand squeezed my heart so hard it physically hurt.

I pulled the wooden stake from the ground, and snapped the heavy metal chain free from his collar. Quickly, carefully, I slid my arms under his still body. His fur was so hot it actually hurt to touch. Panting with the effort, I pulled Kipto up into my arms, and staggered back towards the wall. Usually so full of life, the Labrador lay utterly still in my arms, his head hanging down over my shoulder. He didn’t even look at me.

I reached the wall, and stepped up as close as I could, careful not to jolt or bump Kipto. Confused as to what was happening, he finally let out a little whine. I hugged him gently, and eyed the wall in front of me. It was about shoulder height, and Kipto was a heavy weight to my young arms. But I was determined. I had to get him into the cool house. I took a deep breath, and heaved, pushing him as high up on to the wall as I could.

But I struggled to lift him high enough. My arms strained with the effort. I tried to suck in deep breaths, but the scorching air just burnt my nose, my mouth. Sweat slid down my shoulders and back. Panic gripped me. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I couldn’t lift him?

“Mom,” I cried out, “Mom, grab him!”

No response.

I felt my throat close with fear.

But then Mom was there, lying on her stomach across the hot brick wall, wincing at the heat. Her arms were covered in scratches from the shrubbery, but she reached them out for us. For Kipto. I nearly cried with relief. Her hands closed around the Labrador, and she hauled, hard. They disappeared into our garden. Heart pounding, palms sweating, I scrambled back over the wall to join them.

I followed Mom into the cool house. Kipto whined softly, but he still didn’t try to move. He just let us carry him around. He looked so small and helpless in Mom's arms.

He was so small and helpless, just been left alone to suffer. And I had taken so long to help him. Why did I wait so long? That lump lodged itself firmly in my throat, and I blinked furiously.

Mom laid Kipto down in the cool of our kitchen, and quickly filled up a bucket with cold water. She and I set to work dunking clean towels into the bucket and then laying them across the Kipto, cooling him down. We placed a drinking bowl of fresh water by his head. But he lay just still, panting weakly, eyes closed. Not a single twitch from his tail. Occasionally he'd whimper softly.

I felt tears burn in my eyes. “Is he going to die?” I could barely speak.

I waited too long. It was my fault.

Mom pressed her lips together in a hard line. “No, Olivia, we’re not going to let it happen.”

“He isn’t moving.” The tears were sliding unchecked down my cheeks now, thick and fast. My vision blurred.

I was so slow. This is all my fault. Stupid!

Mom sat still a moment, staring at Kip’s still form. “Get my car keys,” she suddenly said, “we’re taking him to the vet.”

I scrambled for the keys, and together we carried Kipto into the car. A desperate ten minute drive and we were pulling into the vet’s. Mom had called ahead, and Gwen, the veterinary assistant, was waiting for us anxiously in the driveway.

“Do what you can,” Mom instructed, “and we’ll take care of the bill."

For two horrible, awful, anxious hours we waited. But then, we received the best news I had ever heard in my entire life: Kipto was going to be ok. We'd saved him.

I sat in the car and cried and cried; so utterly overwhelmed.

I don’t know what Mom said to the neighbours when they eventually came home that night, but apparently they were only too happy to give Kipto up to us. They seemed delighted to be rid of him. And the very next week, on my 10th birthday, Kipto was officially adopted into our family.

Despite his months of neglect and trauma, Kipto adjusted well to his new life. He loved his new blankets, his chew toys, and after so many lonely months, he especially loved his new friends. Sasha and Penny were utterly overjoyed to have another playmate. They greeted him with wagging tails, licked his face, and each night they curled up beside him when he slept, as if they knew he needed all the extra love and affection he could get. Even our cat liked him.

But Kipto carried some of his emotional scars. For years he was terrified of collars and chains; of anything resembling a leash or constraint. Mom told me it was because he thought they meant he would be tied up and left again. That thought made me so angry I nearly turned the hose on the neighbours. Nearly. I did contemplate it several times. That, and tossing a well-aimed shovel full of poop over the wall.

But I focused on Kipto instead.

Over time however, we taught Kipto that a leash was not something to be scared of. Over time we showed him that leashes meant beach walks, and swims in the sea. Leashes meant new friends at the dog parks, and hikes up into the mountains. Leashes meant freedom and adventures.

By the time I was 13 Kipto would come scrambling across the floor, nearly falling over his own paws in excitement, whenever he saw a leash.

Kipto still had nightmares sometimes But Sasha, Penny, Mom and I were there for him, and he awoke to his family; to a home full of love. A home of affection and freedom. A home where he was never be tied up and left alone ever again.

Kipto lived a full, happy life with us until he passed away peacefully in his sleep aged 16. He brought so much love and joy into our lives, and we are still so very grateful that we had the chance to be his family. We were as much his, and he was ours. He may have lived a year chained up, abandoned and alone, but from the moment we rescued him and brought him into our family Kipto lived a life of love and freedom; a life unleashed.