CHAPTER 9
I rushed over to the cupboard and pulled out my suitcase, grabbing fistfuls of clothing as I went. Shoes and shirts and dresses all shoved into the bottom of my case. I’d once done a Smart Packing Life Hack video on my vlog, one where I showed everyone how to pack effectively by rolling T-shirts into little Swiss rolls, which got over 500,000 views. But now, I couldn’t be bothered.
When the suitcase was packed, I turned my attention to my scattered make-up bags and brushes and lip kits. I gathered up the beauty debris and shoved them into my oversized handbag. One last look around the room, then I threw some cash down on the bed for my stay and I ran. Out the door, leaving it wide open—I wasn’t going to waste a second more closing it. I raced across the street and straight to the bright blue cheese. I rummaged through my bag for the car keys and found them. Then I went back in for the immobilizer and rummaged some more . . . and rummaged some more . . . and rummaged some more . . . and mother-effing more! Where the hell was that stupid little grey thing?
“Nooo,” I whined loudly and raced back into the room like the Road Runner. You remember that cartoon, right? Where Wile E. Coyote is always trying to catch Road Runner as he tears down the road; a flurry of feet and feathers and smoke trailing behind him, “Beep, Beep!”
Well, I was like that as I arrived at the room and began turning it upside-down. Under the bed, bottom of cupboard, under pillows, duvet, down the side of the small sofa, I even pulled the corners of the carpets back. I was sweaty and desperate and on my hands and knees peering under the night stand when I felt it . . . again!
“Oh nooooo.” I hung my head and shook it. I knew what I was going to see when I turned around.
“What do you want this time?” I asked sarcastically, turning to face the black dog. “And don’t just saybark!Not that I would understand you if you said anything else, not that you can say anything else . . . Oh God, whatever! I can’t be talking to a dog now. I’m in a hurry, I need the immobilizer—what car still even has one of those anyway—and you know what? I actually don’t care what you want, or if you’re even real. I don’t care if you are a weird figment of my imagination.” I stood up and started walking towards the dog. It straightened up. “You know what? You are far too big for your own good! Your fur is way too wire-like and you have one eye, you creature from the bog or wherever you come from—” I stopped and gasped in shock when I saw it. Because there, dangling from Satan’s snaggletooth . . . the little grey immobilizer.
I smiled down at him, changing my tune immediately. “Doggy! Pretty little cute, uh . . .” I held my hand out tentatively, moving it closer and closer to the grey button that was dangling from the big, ugly tooth. “Preeeettty please, big guy. Give me the key. I’ll give you a yummy treat. Yummy for your tummy.” I rolled my eyes. Okay, I didn’t know how to talk to dogs. This was very obvious. I had never owned one. I crept a little closer and then deliberately made eye contact with him. I tried to communicate with my eyes to his eye (singular), that I really, really needed that immobilizer. And it seemed to be working because he cocked his head to the side and his jaw loosened somewhat, as if he was about to drop it to the floor.
“Thank Go— NO! NO!” I yelled, watching in horror as he threw his head back and the immobilizer vanished down his black mouth.
“You didn’t!” I rushed over. I was no longer afraid of him, he might not even be real, after all. I reached for his mouth and pulled it open, looking inside. (Although that did feel very real.) It wasn’t there though, and because I think I had watched something like it on a medical drama, I ran to the back of the dog, put my arms around his body and began some animal version of the Heimlich maneuver. But he was heavy, and I was only able to jerk him ever so slightly.
“Spit! It! Out!” I said with each pull. But nothing happened. He simply sat there, looking at me over his shoulder as I tried to shake the key out of him. At last, my arms could no longer handle the weight of him, and I collapsed onto my back and lay there looking at the ceiling.
“You swallowed my car immobilizer,” I whimpered. “And now I can’t get out of here. I’m stuck!” And then, for the one hundredth time in the last couple of days, I cried. And then I laughed. I laugh/cried. I laughed so hard that I choked on the tears, and snorted and hiccupped until my ribs hurt. I looked to my left. Satan’s Little Helper sat there looking at me with his one yellow eye. I stopped laughing and wiped the tears from my face. I propped myself up on my elbow and glared at him.
“God, you are so damn ugly.”
“Ruufff!”
“Did you do this to me because I didn’t thank you for saving me from that snake?” I asked. “Is that why you’re punishing me?” This time he didn’t bark. “You know, I would have seen that snake anyway. It’s not like you saved my life.” I glared at him again and he glared straight back. “Fine, thank you for saving me from that snake, now will you please give the immobilizer back?” I held my hand out and watched and waited for him to miraculously spit it out. He didn’t, so I flopped back down to the floor and lay flat on my back again. And then something strange happened. Satan slid down too, lying next to me. I watched as he carefully rested his head on my foot, and then breathed out as if he was relaxing. We lay there for a while, until it hit me and I sat up again. It hadn’t even crossed my mind, until now.
“Wait, you swallowed an immobilizer! Oh my God. You could die!” I jumped up and rushed over to my phone, only to realize that I couldn’t call 112. Do you even call 112 for animals? What the hell was I supposed to do? I rushed around the room a few times. Uber, I could call an Uber to take me to a ve— Shit, no Uber. I raced some more—I could post on Quora: ‘What to do if your dog swallows an immobilizer?” Wait, no Google, and there was probably a subreddit for this too! I threw my arms in the air and called out to no one in particular. And then I stopped rushing as my sister’s face flew into my mind. I could see her rolling her eyes at me now, at this “Frances fiasco” as she was so fond of calling them. She was younger than me and yet she had this uncanny ability to make me feel like I was a child all over again. Blowing things out of proportion. Making mountains out of molehills. So I took a long, deep breath and calmed myself down.
What the hell do you do without the internet? “Right! Be calm,” I told myself as I looked down at Satan’s Little Helper. He’d raised his head and eyed me curiously.
“Can you walk?” I asked, which was ridiculous. Why was I talking to a dog as if it were a human? A dog I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure was even real. I’d seen a small vet’s practice on the main road when I’d driven into town, it was only a few blocks away, on the same road as the hotel now that I thought about it. I clicked my fingers together a few times and Satan’s Helper rose to his feet as if he understood me.
“Okay, let’s go.” I turned and walked out the hotel room, the dog hot on my heels.
CHAPTER 10
We arrived at the house that had the small “Vet” sign hanging outside it. Like all the other houses, it was a typical Karoo home; blue and white Victorian, with a tin roof and a big wraparound veranda. This veranda was crammed full of pot plants so there was almost nowhere to sit. The door was closed, and an old brass bell hung from the wall. I rang it and waited for an answer. I didn’t have to wait long and soon the door was being opened by a short, very pregnant-looking woman. I glanced down at the name badge on her white coat. Doctor Samirah Shaik Umar.
“Hi, are you the vet?” I asked, although the presence of the name badge did seem to render this question rather redundant.
She smiled and nodded. “As far as I know.”
“Right! Okay, weird question, before we go any further: can you see this dog?” I pointed down at him and held my breath in anticipation of her answer. The moment where I would discover, beyond a reasonable shadow of a doubt, whether or not I was losing my grip on reality.
She looked at him and smiled again. “Of course.”
“Phew!” I breathed a sigh of relief and then giggled. “That’s good.” She looked at me strangely so I quickly cleared my throat and added, “Just checking, you know?” I’m sure she didn’t know, but anyway.
“What can I do for you?” she asked breezily.
“This dog needs a doctor,” I said.
“Well, come in then. The practice is out back.” She held the door open, and I followed her down a long, narrow passage, wooden floorboards creaking, as if there was something trapped in them, wanting to come out. We walked out the house and into a small garden cottage out back. Not exactly what I’d been expecting, but this was a small town.
She pushed the door open and we entered a little white room with a big silver table in the middle of it. I’d never been into a veterinary practice before, my mom hadn’t believed in animals, growing up. Too dirty. Too costly. Too unhygienic. My mother was a nurse before she retired, and she was always pointing out how full of germs something was or wasn’t. Not to mention how full of calories something was or wasn’t.
