A Reason to Exist

Chapter 68

Dad and Tate came back almost two hours later. 'We've walked around and then driven around and there's no sign of the dog,' dad said.

'Bloody hell.' Mum sank her body onto the couch. 'I feel so awful,' she said.

'That dog was a mongrel,' Tate said.

'They love him,' mum said. 'Who are we to say he's a mongrel, if they love him. I shouldn't have opened that gate.'

'We could go to the pound,' dad said. 'Someone may have called the Council.'

Mum's face brightened a little. 'Okay. We'll come with you. I'll just take the lasagne out of the oven.'

We all got in dad's car together. Dad in the front. Mum next to him. Tate and I in the back. This was just how it used to be. The four of us. The type of family that exists in popular culture.

Nobody talked about Tucker, although he was the reason we were all there together. I wondered if they were drilling into his head already. I wondered if the surgeon had a good night's sleep. Whether he'd argued with his wife that morning. Whether he'd had the right balance of coffee and sugar that day. Whether his hands were shaky. I prayed that he was an expert. That the anaesthetist was a superstar. That every doctor and nurse in that room had superhuman powers to save a precious boy's life.

I tapped the car door in four sets of four. Surgeon, save him. Please save him. Get the cancer out of his head. Save him. He's too young. Save him without disrupting anything in his head. Please pass the lifesaving baton so that he can run the relay of life again.

I don't want a farewell party. I don't want to stand at the foot of Tucker's grave. I want to lie in his bed with my fingertips on his chest, his breath on my face, as we climb new altitudes together and advance our taskforce of love.

When we arrived at the pound, Mum explained that our neighbour's dog was lost. She said it probably jumped over the fence and got out our side gate. She told the woman their son had a serious accident and was in hospital and that's why we were searching for the dog. The woman agreed to take us through to look for Diesel.

We walked around the pound looking at cage after cage of animals. This was the compound of loss and neglect and abandonment. A greyhound hovered in a corner. His posture said mistrust, his tail was impotent, his life surrendered. His race was lost. A hunting dog barked at us ferociously as we walked past, as if he wanted to kill. 'We have to put that one down,' the lady said. 'He's been too mistreated.'

At last, we found Diesel pacing in a cage. 'That's him,' Tate said, excitedly.

I was so pleased to see Diesel, even though his tail was drooping and his eyes looked nervous. We paid the fine and bought a lead for him. Dad walked him out to the car.

'We'll all sit in the back,' mum said. 'He can sit in the front with you. I hope he's used to cars.'

Diesel was good. As soon as dad started the engine, Diesel lay down on the floor of the passenger seat.

'Are we going to say something?' Tate asked. 'Or are we just going to slip the dog back over the fence?'

For some reason, I don't know why, all of us burst out laughing. It seemed so ridiculous and unsentimental, but tragedy collided with comedy. There was humour in this landfill of life, despite the garbage, despite terror and sadness and fear, laughter was the momentary escape clause. I saw my mother and my father laughing together, like my mother hadn't been a hardcore bitch to him for the last four years. Tate saw this also. Perhaps he even realised he could love our dad again.