The dog had no name.
He’d been alive for just eleven and a half weeks, and every day had been bewildering. Five brothers had disappeared, along with two sisters: they’d simply left, without a bark of goodbye—and they hadn’t come back. His mother was nearby, but in a different part of the house. He could hear her sometimes when the door opened, but she didn’t come to see him. That made him lonely. He was in a cardboard box, and the only creature he occasionally saw was a long, silver cat that perched outside on the window sill, with her nose against the glass. She stared at him without blinking, and when he tried to get her attention she simply turned her back.
He lay on his side and studied his paws. There were four altogether, and they were black and white. So was the rest of him: a pattern of swirls and splodges ran right around his body and up to his ears, which flopped over his face. He flicked them aside, and played with his tail. Tired of that, he rolled on to his back, squirming on the blanket beneath him.
Was he hungry? No. There were things to chew, and he’d just had a drink. He was warm enough, too, and he’d spent part of the morning happily scratching. The problem was boredom, for without siblings there was nobody to nip, lick or nuzzle.
There was nobody to talk to, so when he noticed the spider, he sat bolt upright, and kept absolutely still. It was dangling from the lampshade over his head, and he watched hopefully as it descended. Soon, it was hovering just above his nose. The dog twitched, determined not to snap, and the creature rotated carefully. A moment later, it had landed right between his eyes, where it divided into two and grew blurred. Sixteen legs flexed and stretched, while innumerable eyes gazed with a solemn seriousness that was quite terrifying.
It was clearly a time for courage.
“Hello?” said the dog nervously. “Good morning.”
The spiders said nothing. They moved back slowly, and coalesced into a single black dot. A pair of fangs appeared, and the eyes grew brighter.
“Good morning,” it said. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. And I’m certainly glad to see you, because I was wondering if I’d be alone again all day. Everyone’s left me, so I was getting quite… well, worried.”
“Rightly so,” said the spider. Its mouth stretched into a tiny smile.
“Do you know where they’ve gone?”
“I do not.”
“So what’s happening?”
“Nothing. You’re curious, though—which doesn’t surprise me. You want the truth, of course—you want answers that will help you assess the situation and decide on an appropriate strategy. But before I give them to you, friend, I’d better warn you about something. Spiders never lie, because it’s not in their nature: we can only deal with facts.”
“Then that’s perfect,” said the dog. “I’m feeling quite confused, you see. I don’t want to be impatient, but I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this.”
“Your family’s been sold,” said the spider. “It happened fast.”
“And who have they been sold to?”
“Different people. Money changed hands, and they’re all on their way to happy new homes, where they’re going to be loved and looked after. They’ll be settling in even as we speak, getting to know nice families. That’s the joy of being wanted, you see. The problem for you is that you were rejected. You’re the one nobody chose.”
“Oh. Right.”
The dog sat in silence, and the spider moved up on to his forehead. It went higher, resting between his ears, before picking one of them. It squeezed under the flap, and spoke softly.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re the youngest and the smallest. Take a look at yourself, little dog: you’re weak, and you’re skinny. OK, you might put on weight in due course, but you’re still lopsided and clumsy. You’re out of proportion, too, and you’re probably not aware of it, but when you close your mouth, your jaws don’t shut properly. One tooth remains visible, so you look awkward. Your brothers were more attractive, I’m afraid—as were your sisters. That’s the law of this particular jungle: the strong survive, and the weak go under. Do you have any more questions at this stage?”
“I don’t think so. No.”
“Think hard.”
The dog blinked again. “I suppose I do have one,” he said nervously. “If I haven’t been chosen, then… OK. It means I’m not wanted at the moment, and I understand that—”
“Those are the facts, and you have to face them.”
“Yes. But what’s going to happen to me? I can’t stay here, can I?”
“No. So you’ve been given away. Do you remember the man who visited this morning? He picked you up and inspected you.”
“Yes. He was in a hurry.”
“He certainly was, but I took the liberty of climbing on to his jacket, and I heard everything he said. He was looking for a pet, and he’d hoped to get a kitten. He popped in here because of the sign on the door: ‘One puppy left, free to a good home.’ That’s what it said, so in he came in search of a bargain. He decided to give you a try, apparently. You’re going to be a gift to his son.”
“But he didn’t take me. He’s left me.”
“He’s coming back, or sending someone. You’ll be on your way very soon.”
The dog shook himself with excitement.
“So that means I am wanted,” he yelped. “I have been chosen.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion, little dog, and I wouldn’t get my hopes up. It’s not a good start, after all. The family lives in a small house, for one thing—and they don’t have much money. The boy is called Tom, and he’s just started at some fancy new school, so—reading between the lines—I think you might be a reward of some kind, like a trophy, or a prize. There have been a few changes in the household, by the sound of it. A bit of upheaval. So the ideal pet, logically, was a safe, straightforward cat. You’ve been purchased on a whim: you’re an experiment.”
“Wow,” said the dog. “I’d better be good, then. I’ll need to be better than a cat, and make sure I don’t cause any problems.”
“Is that possible?”
“Yes! Of course it is.”
The dog shook himself again, more anxious than ever. The spider moved back to his nose, and its smile was wide.
“Dear, oh dear,” it said, chuckling. “What does the future hold, I wonder? You don’t have a pedigree, so nobody knows what’s in the mix. Are you a hunter, perhaps? I doubt it. Are you a guard dog? No. Are you decorative, or functional? Loving, loyal—?”
“I could be all those things!”
“Or none of them.”
“I’m friendly, at least.”
“You’re a fool, and you’re unlucky.”
The dog winced. His head was aching slightly, and he was seeing double again.
“What’s the boy’s name? I think you told me, but—”
“Tom.”
“I like that. It’s a nice name, and it’s easy to say. I wonder what he’ll call me?”
“If it gets that far. If you don’t get rejected in the first five minutes.”
“I need a name!”
“Are names so important?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Without a name you’re… nothing. What’s yours?”
“I’ve never had one, my friend. I’m nameless, but I still exist.”
“Can I call you Thread?” said the dog. “Would you answer to that?”
The spider laughed. It kicked itself into the air, and wound itself upwards, twirling happily.
“Call me what you like,” it cried. “We may never meet again…”
The dog watched as it disappeared, but even as he yelped his goodbye the door was opening. There stood the woman who’d been feeding him. She picked him up, and, before he could even twist, he was in the hall, where a young man was waiting with a leather bag. The dog allowed himself to be lowered into it, trembling all over. It was happening, just as the spider had predicted.
The woman stroked his head and tickled his chin.
“Have a good life, angel,” she said. “You only get one.”