The dog climbed into our van without hesitation. She was at my feet, lying there suddenly, as though this was the most normal of things. She was panting and staring into the air with a stupid happy look on her face. I reached for a bottle of water and poured some into an empty peanut can. She looked up at me with her big grateful eyes and lapped up all the water in a few seconds. She couldn’t have been any older than one, if even that.
We’d found her the day after the crossing. I was feeling so much better that day – the worst was already behind me. No one knew I was here, and it was like Jack had said, I was safer now. We could slow down. We hovered around the outskirts of Vancouver whilst Jack did some work on my case. He was also trying to plan where we’d go next, now that I’d messed up his plan by declaring that I refused to go to Alaska. I was not getting into that coffin of a compartment again. Yesterday’s tensions about my decision, as well as about Donny, had been momentary. Jack had a way of not harbouring grudges and I admired him for it. It wasn’t at all that he was a pushover, he fought his case, but in the end he realised I was totally decided. Then he told me he had every intention of going to Alaska himself at some point, with or without me. He soon changed the subject though, and any ounce of negativity between us disappeared – for now we were just too relaxed for any of that.
That night we’d parked up in a big clearing surrounded by forest. It was used as a parking lot but it was empty when we got there. I heard just one car come and go in the early morning, while it was still dark outside. Jack had sensed my fear, wrapped his arms around me and pressed his body against mine, without saying a word. But the car soon left, as suddenly as it had arrived.
Now that it was morning I was preparing some coffee while Jack was inside the van with the door open, looking at a map. Over the hiss of the stove I heard a whimper coming from somewhere behind me. I wasn’t sure if I hadn’t just imagined it but I got up out of curiosity. I walked past a section of bushes. In front of a trail that led into the forest stood a long low wooden gate, and there, in front of that gate, a small dog was standing and sniffing the earth. Her ribs protruded out of her tiny frail body and her eyes gazed longingly at me.
‘Hey doggy,’ I said, ‘where’s your owner?’
From what I could see, she was a girl. I approached her slowly, but I quickly realised that she didn’t have a tag. My heart sunk as it dawned on me that the car that had come early that morning had probably abandoned her. I went back to the van. As I finished making the coffee I tried not to look at the poor mutt too much because I knew the eye contact could give her hope. When I was a kid I’d come across tons of strays and I knew that, unless you were going to take the dog home with you, you shouldn’t show it any affection. It was unfair on the dog to give it such false hope.
But, from the corner of my eye, I could see that she was still there. Her head hung low, her tail was stuck between her hind legs. She was a pitiful sight. After finishing my coffee I went to pour out the remains a few metres away from the van. The sound of her paws on the gravel told me she had followed me. Though it broke my heart I tried to shoo her away, but she carried on traipsing behind. Perhaps she could sense that every time I waved my arm to try to get her to go away, it was twitching to reach out and touch her fur and stroke her little body.
Jack was even worse at attempting to ignore her. He’d actually ended up getting out of the van and was now stroking her. He’d clearly not had as much experience with stray dogs as I’d had in my life.
And now she had followed us back to the van. What could we do? She was inside. It was definitely her choice more than ours. We hadn’t discussed it but neither of us protested either. An unspoken agreement.
‘What should we call her?’ I asked.
Jack laughed.
‘Sandy?’ he said.
‘No, that’s shit!’ I said bluntly.
He looked around him for inspiration. From the dashboard he picked up the knife we used to cut food with. He read the small words at the bottom of the wooden handle.
‘Made in Philippines,’ he said.
I laughed.
‘Philip!’ I said.
‘She’s a female for god’s sake!’ he laughed.
‘Philippa then!’
We thought about it.
‘Nah,’ we said simultaneously.
‘Nice names,’ he said, ‘but not for a dog.’
‘Oak!’ I exclaimed suddenly, pointing at the handle of the knife. ‘Oak! Oak’s a good name!’
‘Yes,’ he looked at me and smiled, ‘I love it! Oak!’
‘Hey Oak,’ we said to her, ‘hey Oaky.’
Oak looked up at us, tilted her head and started wagging her tail madly. Jack and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. And so it stuck, Oak, our new companion. I didn’t know then just how important a part of my life she would become.
*
That night as we lay in the dark of the van, Jack took my right hand, brought it to his lips and kissed my scar.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you for sharing.’
He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to.