again. Shit. Had he banged his head?
“You sure you’re okay? We’re nearly at the highway. Where do you want me to go?”
“They inj…” His head dipped, and then jerked up again, as if he was trying to stay awake. “Doped. Fuckin’ cat.”
“Cat?”
His eyes were closed. “Ketamine.”
“What?”
No reply. I reached the junction with the highway, and took the turn for home. I’d only gone a short distance when two brightly coloured cars shot past me, garishly logoed with the local TV station decals. I watched in my mirror as they swung onto the road to the pound. Holy fuck, the dog had been right. The talking dog that currently lay unconscious on the back seat of my car.
I tried to figure out a plan as I drove. I’d be home in half an hour, but I was leaving tonight. I had to be at the airport by seven this evening, and it was nearly noon already. Would that be enough time for him to wake up? What did he say? Ketamine ? It sounded familiar, and I could Google it later.
Parking outside my shared house, I faced another problem. How would I move him inside? He looked heavy. Thankfully, when I opened the back door, he lifted his head and opened his eyes.
“Where are we?” He may have been awake, but his words were still slurred and the sapphire gaze was unfocused.
“My place. Do you think you can walk?”
“Uh huh.” He slithered out of the car, to stand by my side, and I led him slowly to the door. I wasn’t expecting my housemates back for hours. Just as well, really. If they heard me trying to have a conversation with a dog, they’d think me crazy.
The hallway was cool after the blazing sunshine outside, and I wondered how cold it would be back home in England. It’d be strange wrapping up in layers again, after weeks of living in shorts and T-shirts. My trip down under was almost over, down to a matter of hours. Would I come back to New Zealand one day? Maybe.
The dog padded beside me, looking more alert by the second. “Could I have some water, please?” His voice was clearer too.
“Of course.” I pushed open the kitchen door and grabbed a bowl from the draining rack, before filling it with cold water from the tap.
He didn’t speak again until he’d emptied the bowl, and the refill I gave him. Sitting on the floor, he pinned me with his gaze, sharp and alert again. “Thanks. I owe you. What’s your name?”
I swallowed down my laugh at the absurdity of the conversation. “Jessie. My friends call me Jess.”
“I won’t forget your help, Jess. But you know you can’t talk about this.”
I snorted, my giggle escaping. “Like anyone would believe me. What kind of dog are you, anyway? Apart from the talking-variety.”
He huffed a soft laugh. It made me tingle, every nerve ending suddenly aware of the delicious timbre of his voice. “I think it’s time I went.” He stood, stretched his front legs, and then shook his entire body. “Where are we?”
“Plimmerton. Do you, uh, want a ride somewhere?”
“I can run home from here, but thanks anyway.”
Padding up the corridor beside me, he waited until I opened the door, and then paused on the doorstep, and turned to face me. He stepped closer and nuzzled at my hand. “Whoah.” He jerked his head back, and stared at me, eating me up with his gaze.
The air felt charged, as though we were in the middle of a lightning storm and I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. What just happened?
“My name is Levi. I’ll see you again soon, Jess.”
What? “Um, no. You won’t.”
The dog—Levi—cocked his head to one side. “Why not?”
“I’m leaving in a few hours. Going home. To England.” His stare was unnerving, and I babbled to fill the silence. “I was only here on a work visa, and even though I might come back one day, it won’t be for years. And I’m not sure this isn’t all a hangover-induced dream. I’m probably going to wake on the sofa in a few minutes and forget all this happened. I mean,
“You sure you’re okay? We’re nearly at the highway. Where do you want me to go?”
“They inj…” His head dipped, and then jerked up again, as if he was trying to stay awake. “Doped. Fuckin’ cat.”
“Cat?”
His eyes were closed. “Ketamine.”
“What?”
No reply. I reached the junction with the highway, and took the turn for home. I’d only gone a short distance when two brightly coloured cars shot past me, garishly logoed with the local TV station decals. I watched in my mirror as they swung onto the road to the pound. Holy fuck, the dog had been right. The talking dog that currently lay unconscious on the back seat of my car.
I tried to figure out a plan as I drove. I’d be home in half an hour, but I was leaving tonight. I had to be at the airport by seven this evening, and it was nearly noon already. Would that be enough time for him to wake up? What did he say? Ketamine ? It sounded familiar, and I could Google it later.
Parking outside my shared house, I faced another problem. How would I move him inside? He looked heavy. Thankfully, when I opened the back door, he lifted his head and opened his eyes.
“Where are we?” He may have been awake, but his words were still slurred and the sapphire gaze was unfocused.
“My place. Do you think you can walk?”
“Uh huh.” He slithered out of the car, to stand by my side, and I led him slowly to the door. I wasn’t expecting my housemates back for hours. Just as well, really. If they heard me trying to have a conversation with a dog, they’d think me crazy.
The hallway was cool after the blazing sunshine outside, and I wondered how cold it would be back home in England. It’d be strange wrapping up in layers again, after weeks of living in shorts and T-shirts. My trip down under was almost over, down to a matter of hours. Would I come back to New Zealand one day? Maybe.
The dog padded beside me, looking more alert by the second. “Could I have some water, please?” His voice was clearer too.
“Of course.” I pushed open the kitchen door and grabbed a bowl from the draining rack, before filling it with cold water from the tap.
He didn’t speak again until he’d emptied the bowl, and the refill I gave him. Sitting on the floor, he pinned me with his gaze, sharp and alert again. “Thanks. I owe you. What’s your name?”
I swallowed down my laugh at the absurdity of the conversation. “Jessie. My friends call me Jess.”
“I won’t forget your help, Jess. But you know you can’t talk about this.”
I snorted, my giggle escaping. “Like anyone would believe me. What kind of dog are you, anyway? Apart from the talking-variety.”
He huffed a soft laugh. It made me tingle, every nerve ending suddenly aware of the delicious timbre of his voice. “I think it’s time I went.” He stood, stretched his front legs, and then shook his entire body. “Where are we?”
“Plimmerton. Do you, uh, want a ride somewhere?”
“I can run home from here, but thanks anyway.”
Padding up the corridor beside me, he waited until I opened the door, and then paused on the doorstep, and turned to face me. He stepped closer and nuzzled at my hand. “Whoah.” He jerked his head back, and stared at me, eating me up with his gaze.
The air felt charged, as though we were in the middle of a lightning storm and I felt the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. What just happened?
“My name is Levi. I’ll see you again soon, Jess.”
What? “Um, no. You won’t.”
The dog—Levi—cocked his head to one side. “Why not?”
“I’m leaving in a few hours. Going home. To England.” His stare was unnerving, and I babbled to fill the silence. “I was only here on a work visa, and even though I might come back one day, it won’t be for years. And I’m not sure this isn’t all a hangover-induced dream. I’m probably going to wake on the sofa in a few minutes and forget all this happened. I mean,
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