Bailey

Bailey wasn’t planned. I was living in a cramped student flat and only meant to foster him for two weeks. He was scrawny, nervous, tail tucked so tight under him it might’ve snapped. But something happened between us in that short time. I think we recognised the same kind of scared in each other. I kept him. Moved to the country, ate beans on toast for months to afford the vet bills. Best decision I ever made. Part collie, part question mark. But what a heart. Bailey felt things deeply. If I was low, he’d put his chin on my chest and sigh like he understood. If I laughed, he’d wag his whole body. He was always in it with me, whatever “it” was. He hated fireworks and the sound of the kettle. Loved pigeons, dirty socks and belly rubs. In the end, it was sudden. A seizure. I was there, though, holding him, telling him what a good boy he was. That he saved me. That he was enough. He was my dog. My whole world, in one funny, fuzzy shape.