A Sheepdog Called Sky Read online

  Jasmine scooped the little dog up in her arms and held it close. The puppy opened its amber eyes and looked at her, and the tip of its tail slowly began to wag. The look in its eyes was one of absolute trust.

  For my sister Hazel

  H. P.

  For Sarah and Daisy

  E. S.

  Jasmine and her best friend Tom were shovelling pig feed into a bucket when Jasmine suddenly remembered something.

  “Guess what?” she said. “I’m going to be looking after two chinchillas in August.”

  Tom’s eyes lit up. “Oh, chinchillas are so cute! Whose are they?”

  Jasmine picked up the bucket. “They belong to one of the other vets at Mum’s surgery,” she said, as they crossed the farmyard towards the orchard. “They’re called Clover and Daisy. They’ve got this massive cage and it’s going to go in my bedroom. I can’t wait.”

  A large mallard drake waddled across the yard towards them, flapping his wings and quacking. Jasmine laughed as he nibbled at her wellington boots.

  “Don’t be jealous, Button,” she said, stroking his silky feathers. “You know you’re the best duck in all the world. And Clover and Daisy are only coming for two weeks. You’re mine forever.”

  Tom and Jasmine had rescued Button in the spring, when he was just an orphaned egg on the riverbank. Jasmine had given him his name because his perfectly round eyes looked like two shiny black buttons. He was a fully grown drake now, living happily with the chickens, but he still liked to follow her around the farmyard and be petted.

  “Are you getting paid to look after the chinchillas?” asked Tom.

  “I don’t know. If I do, I’ll need to give the money to Dad, for Truffle’s feed. She eats so much these days. But that’s the whole point of having animals to board, isn’t it – so that we have enough money to look after rescued animals.”

  The two friends were planning to set up an animal rescue centre and boarding kennels when they grew up. The idea had been inspired by Truffle, Jasmine’s pet pig, who was now trotting across the orchard to greet them. She had been a tiny runt piglet on the point of death when Jasmine had smuggled her home from a neighbouring farm and nursed her back to health eight months ago.

  Tom tipped the feed into Truffle’s trough and Jasmine scratched her behind the ears as she gobbled the pignuts.

  “When are the chinchillas coming?” asked Tom.

  “Not until the middle of August. Three weeks to go.”

  When Tom had to go home for lunch, Jasmine walked up the farm track with him. Fluffy white clouds perched high in the bright blue sky.

  “The sky looks like a painting, doesn’t it?” said Jasmine.

  “It’s better than a painting,” said Tom, “because it changes all the time.”

  “Like a new painting every day.”

  In the field to the left of the track, Jasmine spotted her five-year-old brother Manu and his best friend Ben, crouched by a clump of hawthorn bushes.

  “Look what we found!” called Manu.

  “Ugh,” said Tom. “That’s creepy.”

  It was an animal’s skull, with big eye sockets and a complete set of teeth.

  “Look, it still works,” said Ben. He moved the lower jaw to make the mouth open and shut.

  “It’s a badger,” said Manu. “We’ve got a leg bone, too. We’re looking for the rest of it.”

  “I’m hungry,” said Ben.

  “There’s biscuits at home,” said Manu, and they ambled back towards the house.

  Jasmine said goodbye to Tom at the end of the track. As she turned to walk back home, a little sound made her stop. Frowning in concentration, she stood still and listened.

  The air hummed with insects. Bees buzzed in the clover and butterflies fluttered among the dog roses and rosebay willowherb. In the next field, a kestrel hovered, waiting to pounce on its prey.

  I must have imagined it, she thought. She started to walk on. But then she heard it again. A tiny whimper. It seemed to be coming from the hedge.

  Jasmine walked back and scanned the thick hedgerow. There was no sign of an animal. She dropped to her knees and looked underneath the hedge.

  And then she saw something. A heap of matted black and white fur. Was it a dead animal? A badger, perhaps?

  The heap of fur whimpered again. Jasmine moved closer so she could see it properly.

  A dog! A little collie, hardly more than a puppy, by the looks of it. But it wasn’t a normal, healthy puppy. It looked barely alive. Its eyes were closed and its bones jutted out beneath the dull, matted fur.

  “Hello,” said Jasmine softly. “Hello, little dog. What are you doing under there?”

  The puppy whimpered again, but it didn’t move.

  “Are you hurt?” Jasmine asked. “Are you stuck? Let me get you out of there.”

  She reached in and gently put her arms around the little dog. She picked it up and gasped in shock. It was much lighter than she had expected. Its hip and shoulder bones stuck out from its body, and she could see every one of its ribs under the matted coat.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said. “Oh, you poor, poor thing, you’re starving.”

  The puppy lay limp in Jasmine’s arms, taking fast, shallow breaths. She tried to stand it up but it just flopped down again on its side in the grass. It clearly had no strength at all in its legs. It didn’t even seem to be able to lift its head up.

  Jasmine looked at her watch. Her mum, who was a vet, would still be taking morning surgery at the practice where she worked, four miles away. Jasmine could phone her and ask her to bring medicines and supplies, but she wouldn’t be able to get back for at least an hour. Dad had gone to collect some new beef calves from a neighbouring farm. Jasmine’s older sister, Ella, was at home, but she wouldn’t have a clue what to do with a sick puppy.

  Jasmine scooped the little dog up in her arms and held it close. The puppy opened its amber eyes and looked at her, and the tip of its tail slowly began to wag. The look in its eyes was one of absolute trust.

  Jasmine bent down and kissed the top of its head.

  “Don’t worry, little dog,” she said. “I’m going to take you home and make you better. You’ll be all right now. I promise.”

  Jasmine’s heart was beating very fast as she walked home, cradling the dog in her arms. After that one sign of life, the puppy had closed its eyes again and had made no further movement. Jasmine had seen enough sick animals to know that, despite her reassurances, the little dog was very close to death.

  The farmhouse was silent as she opened the front door and walked into the hall. There was an empty biscuit tin on the kitchen table. Manu and Ben must have eaten all the biscuits and gone out again.

  Cradling the silent, unmoving puppy, Jasmine fetched a pile of clean towels from the airing cupboard and put them on the kitchen table. Then she carefully laid the dog on the towels on his side.

  It was a horrifying sight. The little dog, whom she now saw was a boy, was barely more than a skeleton covered with a thin layer of skin and tangled, dirty fur. There were bare patches and sores on his skin where the fur had rubbed off in places, and he also had sores under his tail.

  Jasmine took a deep breath. You need to calm down and think like a vet, she told herself. You’ve spent enough time watching Mum at work. What would Mum do now?

  If the dog was starving, he was probably also very dehydrated. Gently, she pinched the skin on his neck, as she had seen Mum do. Instead of springing back when she let go, like normal healthy skin would, it stayed puckered up. The dog was extremely dehydrated. She needed to get some liquid into him.

  She found a clean dog bowl in the scullery, filled it with water and carried it carefully to the table. She set it beside the dog, but h
e didn’t move. Gently, she lifted his head and slid the bowl under his mouth, still supporting his head. To her delight, he opened his eyes, put out his tongue and started to lap the water.

  “Good boy!” said Jasmine. “Good boy, you’re drinking!”

  She held his head until he stopped lapping, and then gently laid it down again. Stroking his ear, she considered him thoughtfully. “If you can drink,” she said, “then maybe you could manage to eat something, too.”

  Mum had special canned food for sick dogs at the surgery, but until she came home, the best thing to tempt the puppy would be chopped cooked chicken.

  Jasmine opened the fridge. Dad often made himself a chicken sandwich for lunch. Sure enough, there was half a cooked chicken breast left in an open pack on the middle shelf. Jasmine took it out. Dad would have to have a cheese sandwich today.

  Taking a chopping board from the dresser, she cut the chicken into tiny cubes and put them on a saucer. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to eat,” she said to him, “but let’s see.”

  She lifted his head and slid the saucer under his mouth. To her amazement, the little dog wolfed down the entire lot, licking the saucer clean afterwards. Jasmine smiled at him as she laid his head back down.

  “Well done, little one,” she said, ruffling his tangled fur. “You’re doing really well.”

  She walked over to the dresser, picked up the phone and dialled the number of the vet’s surgery where her mum worked.

  “Leconfield Veterinary Practice,” said the woman on the other end. Jasmine recognised the voice of Mina, one of the nurses.

  “Hello, Mina,” she said. “It’s Jasmine. Could you give a message to my mum, please?”

  “Your mum’s right here,” said Mina. “She’s just finished with her last client. I’ll hand you over.”

  “Hello, Jas,” said Mum. “Is everything OK?”

  “When you come home,” said Jasmine, getting straight to the point, “could you bring a drip and a drip stand, please? And some of that special canned food for sick puppies.”

  There was a slight pause at the other end of the line. Then came a heavy sigh. “Oh, Jasmine,” said Mum. “What have you brought home now?”

  Half an hour later, the front door opened. Jasmine hurried into the hall to meet her mother. Mum looked tense as she carried a tall drip stand and a big case full of equipment and medicines into the kitchen, but as soon as she saw the little dog lying on the table, her expression changed to one of horrified concern.

  “I found him under the hedge by the lane at the top of Hawthorn Field,” said Jasmine. “He’s a boy. I checked.”

  “You poor little thing,” said Mum, stroking the dog’s tangled coat. “What happened to you?”

  “He weighs hardly anything,” said Jasmine, “and he can’t even stand up.”

  Mum went over to the sink and washed her hands. “Let’s move him into the scullery,” she said, “and examine him properly. You can be my nurse, Jasmine. You can start by wiping down the scullery surfaces. Where are the boys?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jasmine, as she took a clean cloth from the cupboard under the sink. “They ate all the biscuits and went out again.”

  “Good,” said Mum. “Hopefully they won’t want lunch for a while, then. Dad can make them sandwiches when he gets back.”

  Mum brought the puppy on his heap of towels through to the scullery, and laid him on the work surface. His eyes were closed and he made no attempt to move.

  “He’s really dehydrated,” said Jasmine. “I pinched his skin and it didn’t spring back.”

  “Have you tried giving him anything to drink?” Mum asked.

  “Yes, I gave him a bit of water. He can’t lift his head on his own but he drank when I held his head up. And he’s eaten, too.”

  Mum shot Jasmine a worried look. “What did you give him?”

  “Some of that cooked chicken breast, chopped up really small.”

  “Not too much?”

  “No, just half a breast.”

  “Good girl. We mustn’t overfeed him. Little and often is the key. Same with water.”

  “That must be a good sign, though, isn’t it,” said Jasmine, “if he’s eating and drinking?”

  Mum looked at the dog and then at Jasmine.

  “I’m afraid this is a very sick dog, Jas.”

  Jasmine was so scared to ask the question that she could hardly breathe, but she had to know the answer.

  “Will he survive?” she asked.

  Mum paused. “To be honest,” she said eventually, “I don’t think he has much of a chance. The problem is, his internal organs will have been put under so much pressure from the starvation that he could suffer from organ failure at any time. We’ll do our best, of course. But you have to understand, Jasmine, that a dog this emaciated is unlikely to survive and, even if he does, he might have lasting damage to his organs.”

  “You should have seen the look he gave me when I told him I was bringing him home,” said Jasmine. “And he wagged his tail. He trusts me, Mum. He trusts me to make him better. I can’t let him down.”

  Mum stroked Jasmine’s hair. “We’ll do our very best. Now, let’s give him a thorough examination. Go and fetch the bathroom scales, and get a pen and paper, too. You can make a chart to record the results.”

  When Jasmine returned with the scales, Mum lifted the puppy on to them.

  “4.2 kilos,” she said. She laid the dog back on the towels. “Write that down, Jas. You’ll need to divide your paper into columns. Put the date in the first column. Then you need columns for weight, temperature, pulse, treatment, drugs and feeding. You can fill the details in every day.”

  While Mum got the equipment ready, Jasmine divided the sheet of paper into seven columns and wrote a heading at the top of each. She filled in the date and then, under “Weight”, she wrote “4.2 kilos”.

  “How much should he weigh?” she asked.

  “I’ll examine his teeth in a bit,” said Mum, “to get a better idea of his age, but if he’s what I reckon, which is about five months old, then he should weigh three times that. He weighs less than a cat, poor little thing. Now, wash your hands and then you can help me with the drip.”

  Jasmine had seen Mum setting up a drip before, but this was the first time she had been the head nurse. She held the little dog and talked softly to him as Mum shaved the hair from his right foreleg and cleaned the area with antiseptic. She held the catheter in place while Mum taped it to the dog’s leg and attached the fluid line.

  “Since he’s drinking,” said Mum, “he should only need to be on the drip for a few hours. It will just help to rehydrate him and get some nutrients into him.”

  “I won’t leave you,” Jasmine said to the puppy, stroking his head. “I’ll stay with you the whole time.”

  “Now we need to give him a thorough examination,” said Mum. “You can fill everything in on the chart.”

  First, Mum took the puppy’s temperature to check for hypothermia, and then she checked him all over for bleeding and any obvious broken bones. “He seems to be all in one piece,” she said, “so I don’t think we’ll need to X-ray him. You can dress these sores once I’ve examined him.”

  “How could anyone starve and abandon a puppy like this?” said Jasmine.

  “It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it,” said Mum. “When he’s well enough to go to the surgery, I’ll scan him for a microchip. If he’s microchipped, we can trace the owner.”

  “You won’t give him back, will you?”

  “Well, that will depend. He might have run away, of course. But it looks more like a case of neglect and abandonment. We’ll report the owner to the RSPCA, and they’ll investigate.”

  “I hope they put the owner in prison for a very long time,” said Jasmine.

  She stood by the little dog, stroking him and talking to him, breaking off only to add notes to her chart, as Mum checked his eyes and ears for infections and gave his paws a thorough inspection. Th
e dog lay on his side, with his eyes shut, not moving an inch. Mum listened to his heart through her stethoscope and then gently palpated his tummy. Finally, she parted his lips to look at his teeth. He stayed completely still.

  “I think he’s about five months’ old,” Mum said. “Poor little thing. You haven’t had much of a life, have you?”

  She unwrapped a new syringe from its sterile packaging. “I’m going to get a blood sample and take it to the surgery. It will tell us if there’s any damage to his liver and kidneys.”

  She gave Jasmine a serious look. “Try not to get too attached to him, Jas. If he’s not responding to treatment in a couple of days, I’m afraid it might be the kindest thing to put him down.”

  “That won’t happen,” said Jasmine, “because he’ll be much better by then.”

  Mum sighed. “Well, let’s hope so. It’s lucky you found him when you did. He might not have survived another day in this state. He’ll need a multivitamin and iron jab to give him a boost, and an antibiotic to prevent infection, and then I’ll clip his coat around the sores and clean them out. You can get a bed ready for him. Use that plastic dog bed in the shed and line it with newspaper and Vetbed. I’ll buy some nappies while I’m out, too.”

  “Baby’s nappies?”

  “Yes, we use them on dogs sometimes, if they can’t move.”

  Jasmine fetched the plastic dog bed from the shed and wiped it clean. Then she lined it with old newspapers and Vetbed, an absorbent, padded material that vets used for sick animals’ beds because it was easy to wash and dry.

  “Once he’s off the drip, you can give him a bath, and then he can sleep in here for now,” said Mum. “You’ll need to turn him regularly, to avoid putting pressure on the sores. Now, I’d better go and see what havoc those boys are causing.”

  Left alone with the puppy, Jasmine stroked the back of his head.