There’s a dog in the woods near the park on my way to school. It’s a mutt, feral by the looks of it, with a foaming snarl on its mouth and oozing wounds all over its body. Its fur was matted with mud and dirt, and its paw pads were cracked and dry. I couldn’t see if it was a boy or a girl; it ran away when I tried to approach it. Every morning on my way to school, I stood in front of the park gates, squinting into the dark forest to see if the dog was there. I spent far too much time there, and it cost me two late remarks in my school diary and a disappointed look from my teachers.

So, I started leaving the house an extra twenty minutes early, just so that I could spend that time in front of the park gates, squinting into the forest to catch a glimpse of the feral mutt. It took three weeks for it to show up again, and this time it stuck around long enough for me to cross the road and make my way to the edge of the trees. I hesitantly extended my hand towards it, but it leaped forward, sinking its teeth into my hand.

I backed away with a pained grunt, cradling my bleeding hand against my abdomen. I didn’t go to school that day, instead making a round to the free clinic to get my hand treated. I had to get two injections- antibiotics the rabies vaccine, and six stitches. The line was long, and I was forced to spend most of my day there, such that by the time I returned home, it was evening. Knowing full well the scolding that awaited me once I told my mother of my injury, I quietly went into my room, pretending I had gone to school that day.

I went to school the next day, only to find out that the date of the project submission had been shifted to that day, and I was entirely unprepared. I tried to explain myself to the teacher, but all she did was give me a withering look.

‘First, you dropped out of both the debate team and the literature club, you’re absent-minded in your classes, and now you’re forgetting project submissions? Couldn’t you have asked one of your friends what was told yesterday?’ I had no answer to give, so I stayed quiet, studying the grain of the teacher’s table as if it were one of Van Gogh’s paintings.

The teacher assigned a group project to us that same day, and I brightened, finally having an excuse to talk to the people who once called me their friend. Typically, my hope was shot down the moment I looked over at the girls who’d been put in the same group as me. Their expressions varied from annoyed indifference to flat-out disgust, and they, in no uncertain terms, rebuffed me when I offered to help.

‘So which part am I supposed to cover?’ I asked as the tasks were being split up. I saw all of them look at me with annoyance, and I could feel the hope in my chest wither away even more.

‘Let us do all the work, you just have to show up on presentation day and stand there quietly.’

‘But-’ I began to protest.

‘What’s your problem? You do none of the work and get all the rewards- isn’t that how you like it?’ I flinched back as if I’d been slapped, staying quiet for the rest of the meeting and making a mental note to not even mistakenly attend the rest of them.

I avoided lingering by the park until my hand healed, a feeling in my stomach telling me the mutt wouldn’t be pleased to see me so soon after attacking me. It took a week for me to see the mutt again, pawing at roadkill that had already been stripped down to its bones by what I assumed was another animal. This time, too, it raised its haunches and did not refrain from biting me, going for my arm instead of my hand.

Despite the pain and bleeding, I smiled at the doctor at the clinic after he’d sewn up my arm, telling me that this time the wound was mild, requiring only two stitches instead of six like last time. The mutt had sunk its teeth to a much shallower degree than before, and the confirmation that it was softening towards me had me smiling all the way home.

This time too, my mother did not notice the bandage on my arm, and I was grateful for her lack of attention as I went into my room, counting the pocket change I’d saved up over the months, and wondering if it would be enough to buy it something nice, as a token of my friendship.

I offered it a treat the next time I saw it, and I was finally allowed close enough to determine that it was a girl. I felt my insides swell with glee when she swiped at my hand, cutting the skin open with her sharp, ragged claws instead of biting me like twice before. The wound didn’t even need stitches! My smile dropped, however, when I noticed that her nails had begun to curl in on themselves, causing her paws to bleed.

‘Well, no wonder you’re such a grouch- I’d be a grouch too if I was always in pain.’ I said to her in a soft voice the next time I saw her, trying to reach out and inspect her paws to gauge their condition, but she growled at me the moment she noticed my hand inching towards her, so I backed away. I expected her to run away the moment she’d finished eating the bowl of food I’d brought her, except she didn’t, lingering for a while.

So, I lingered too, and we stared at the bright blues above us, several feet apart.

I stopped being able to afford any of the extra add-ons that came with our meals in the cafeteria, the bare minimum base meal barely enough to fill me. My stomach began to growl pre-emptively as I picked up my tray, staring at the meager amount of rice and some vegetable curry I couldn’t even identify. I sat down at the only empty spot left, and it happened to be at the loudest table in the whole room.

‘Hey,’ I said with a hesitant smile, eyeing the fruits and snacks the others had bought with their pocket change with thinly veiled hunger. ‘Could I have an apple slice? They were all out of them at the counter by the time I got there.’ I chuckled sheepishly.

‘Actually, I just finished all of mine.’ I saw all of the girls shield their trays from my eyes as if to prevent me from confirming their lie. But I didn’t need to the expressions on their faces were enough for me to know what was going on.

I returned to the classroom after lunch in silence, sitting in the corner of the room and staring at the markings left on the wooden desk by the other students. There was buzzing and life all around me, yet I had never felt so cold and empty, much like a corpse would.

‘Hey, I’ve got some leftover apple slices from lunch. Want any?’ I heard half the class get up and descend on the handful of fruit like hungry wolves, but I stayed in my seat, knowing I wouldn’t have gotten any even if nobody in the class wanted them. A wave of guilt and frustration washed over me, and not for the first time. It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried to fix things- but every effort seemed to be too little, too late.

It wasn’t an easy job, taming the feral. The first time I managed to lure her with food and treats into wearing a collar and dragged her to the vet, she acted like she was in mortal peril. Which I suppose was a natural reaction to a mutt that had probably only seen suffering at the hands of humans previously. Despite that, I managed to wrangle her into a headlock long enough for her vaccines to be administered and for her wounds to be cleaned and bandaged.

To say she was unhappy when I let her go would be an understatement. This time when she bit me, her teeth hit bone, but despite the quite literal bone-deep pain I felt as I looked at her blood-covered mouth, I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but kinship with her. I was in far too much pain to follow her as she ran out of the clinic, going who-knows-where, but worry seized my heart when I couldn’t find her for the next week- I couldn’t tell if she was mad at me or if she’d never made it back to her home.

But a gut feeling told me she was too stubborn to get lost, and that she was probably hiding from me. If that was the case, then she sure was an expert at hiding. But I was also stubborn, and no matter how much my injured leg begged me to take it easy and stay at home, I showed up at our usual meeting spot every day without fail. The school required my mother to write a letter for a leave of absence that lasted more than three days, but I simply forged my mother’s signature, knowing that if I asked her to do it, she’d keep putting it off and it’d never get done.

I’m not sure my mother even noticed I stopped going to school. If she did, she never said anything.

On day eight, I finally found her, curled up in the alcove formed by the roots of an oak tree. I could’ve cried from the relief I felt flood my body, and I smiled as I lowered her food bowl in front of her. Unlike all feedings previously, this time she didn’t look at me with eyes full of doubt before deciding to gobble up the food that was offered to her. She still growled at me when I tried to brush away the stray bits of dog food stuck to her mouth, but she was well-fed, so that was okay.

I winced as my wound twinged, the stitches straining as I adjusted my weight to not rest so completely on my injured leg. To my joy, she followed me out of the forest, pausing at the very edge of the trees where I’d first seen her. I gave her one last glance before I crossed the road, standing in front of the park gates to look at her pitiful face. I smiled at her, waving.

‘I’ll be back tomorrow!’ I promised her, needing her to know that she wouldn’t be punished for her fear. She seemed to understand as she sat back on her haunches, tilting her head- or maybe that was just me hoping that she did.

Alas, I couldn’t keep my promise to her, since the fever that had been manageable so far decided to shoot up several degrees, leaving me delirious and capable of doing little more than lying limp in bed.

I coughed like a mad woman, my throat raw and chafed. My stomach growled from being unfed since my mother had yet to notice that I was too sick to feed myself. She didn’t notice much of anything- whether it be the bloodied bandages I was throwing in the garbage each night, the fact that I’d dropped half the hobbies I was interested in before, or that I’d been retching incessantly from the nausea that came with being hungry for too long.

In my fevered trance, I began dreaming- I saw me and my beloved mutt in bright sunlight instead of the damp forest, running through golden fields instead of staying confined in the same cramped clearing every time. I saw her tail wagging- no, I imagined it, because I’d never seen her wag her tail before. Despite not even being strong enough to stand without leaning on something, the mere thought of seeing her seared my heart like a brand.

I waited barely until my health returned to me, grabbing her bowl and making a run for it the moment my head felt clear and my limbs felt strong enough to carry me. My leg screamed at me to stop, but I turned it a deaf ear as I ran to the park gates. A part of me, despite my determination, was dreading the hike into the forest in nothing but flip-flops and sweat-soaked pajamas.

But my dread seemed to be for nothing as, to my greatest astonishment, I saw her sitting on the stairs of the park. She’d never willingly left the forest before, so this was very out-of-character for her, as was the yip she let out when she saw me.

Tears sprang to my eyes as my leg gave out from underneath me and I dropped to the cold pavement. She bounded over to me, her eyes round, wide, and wet. I offered her the bowl full of food, knowing she probably hadn’t eaten properly in days. But she paid it no mind, instead sniffing at the bandage wrapping my leg, which had begun to turn red from the running and the days of negligence beforehand. She whined softly as if to apologize for the bite, but her bandages were still holding up, so it was okay.

‘I don’t blame you for not trusting me.’ I murmured in my cracked, weak voice, finally allowed to pet her. I ran my hands over her matted fur, feeling the scars that marred her wee self and must’ve marred her soul too. I bet all she’d wanted to do was cry and say, ‘Hurt me no more.’

But she couldn’t have done it- no, it would’ve been a far too prominent sign of weakness for a mutt trying to survive. So as she crawled into my lap, nuzzling my glasses, I wept for her, allowing my howling cries to pierce the otherwise silent night. She joined me, as though my crying had been a sign, telling her that it was okay to mourn all the pain she’d endured.

And as tears streamed down my face, wetting the lens of my glasses and blurring my vision, I turned my face towards the heavens, asking whoever was willing to listen, ‘If even a feral animal can be felt for like 'twas a turtle-dove, then how can I, a human, be oh-so unworthy of love?’

The heavens gave no answer, but the warm ball of matted fur and wounds that were no longer oozing stopped her howling, curling up in my lap, her bowl of food still ignored. The action seemed to chase away some of the coldness that had been gripping me for weeks now, and I couldn’t decide whether I should chuckle in glee that we’d met or sob in the pain of wishing we’d met earlier.

She was still a mutt, and I was still flawed, but if she could be loved, then maybe so could I.

.    .    .