Amber Sampson walked along the river at about eight in the morning. Mud slowly crept up the soles of her shoes. She carefully aimed each step to avoid deeper patches of mud brought by yesterday’s appearance of autumn rains. The sun shone but had none of its summery warmth left.
She had walked this path countless times in every season to go to work. The path was exactly the same as always. She hoped she’d get to work as soon as possible.
She thought her husband leaving after nine years would have meant more, that the world would become a new place. She lived in the same rental and walked the same path to the same destination. She couldn’t imagine ending up in any other destination than the reception desk at the vet clinic. Her husband had left her, even though it was his drinking that ultimately drove them apart.
A golden retriever played fetch with its owner in the park on the other side of the river, the dog’s coat damp from the wet grass. Its tail wagged and its tongue hung from its mouth.
She hadn’t thought about a time before she was married in so long that now it felt like someone else’s memories. She had lived not far from the Sky Tower in Auckland with her family. Her older brother had moved to London to work in IT. Their only correspondence were overly polite emails saying how busy they each were. Their mother left for a Frenchman when Amber was ten years old. She never heard from her mother again and never understood why she had left. Amber had been sent to live with her mother’s parents about a year later. Her father claimed he couldn’t raise both of his kids alone. She and her father emailed occasionally.
The golden retriever crossed to this side of the river, and the dog now ran past her, spraying up mud. She brushed the mud off her jacket. The retriever was still perfectly clean. The owner came along soon after. His hair was dyed brown with grey roots growing through. He wore a solid red Under Armour singlet despite the cold.
“Hi Amber, sorry about Buddy. Did he spray any mud on you?”
It took Amber a moment to realise that the owner was one of the more frequent customers at the vet clinic. He was always diligent about yearly check-ups and came in about once a month to buy special dog food. She could never remember his name. It was something generic. He used to come in with his wife. Sometime last year it changed to just him.
“A bit, but don’t worry about it.”
“Did I ever tell you why I named my dog Buddy?
“Yes, I do believe you’ve mentioned it. Air Bud, right?”
He had mentioned his favourite movie many times, perhaps hoping he’d find someone else who loved the movie too. He was a bit of a himbo. At least he had held onto the youthful energy that makes dumb men bearable. Amber imagined him forcing his ex-wife to watch Air Bud every night. As a dog owner, he probably had his own house – she had tried to convince her landlord to allow her to keep a pet with no luck. Amber thought he must make good money; he visited the vet often and never looked stressed. You got used to seeing pet owners desperate for quick fix and angry at the price they’d have to spend.
He really was quite handsome.
The two walked together in silence for a while. Buddy ran up and down the muddy path. Amber didn’t know if she wanted to start up a conversation and the man didn’t seem to have anything else to say.
Then he slipped and grabbed her arm to steady himself. They both fell. He quickly rose to his feet and helped her up as well. Buddy sprinted back and growled at Amber.
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” The man was close enough that she could smell wine on his breath.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I better get going.” She started walking faster despite the mud, no longer stepping carefully. She hoped he wouldn’t try to follow.
She wondered if he’d started drinking after he had split with his wife. Maybe his wife left because of his drinking too. She didn’t know and didn’t care to find out. She imagined devoting her time to helping him get clean. It taking up all her spare time. Worrying about him drinking while she was at work. It was impossible. She knew she couldn’t be that person, knew that he probably didn’t want that person in his life.
A flock of ducks landed in the river together. She looked at them and saw Buddy playing fetch on the other side again, the wet grass already cleaning his muddy coat.
Her mind turned back to work and her pace slowed. She needed to chase up late payments today. She’d get yelled at by most of them, angry at the already expensive bills getting dearer. She hadn’t particularly wanted to work at a vet. Her first job was working at a pet store. She’d wanted to volunteer at the SPCA but her grandfather said she needed a paying job. After Year 12, she left high school and went full-time at the pet store. The manager and assistant mangers were lifers, and the lack of any possible career progression eventually led to her leaving for the receptionist job at the vet.
The sun finally started to warm the air and her thoughts drifted away from work. A swarm of tweens stood near the back fence of the school that backed onto the park. Most of them stared quietly at Amber as she walked past. One boy called out “How’d you get so muddy?”
“I slipped in the mud.”
The children laughed, then one said, “Ah, she’s cool. She is always really nice to Thor when he’s sick.”
The kids were usually the best customers. They were honest in their hope for their pet getting better. She sometimes suspected the parents would have been happy having the family pet put down.
Amber reached a fork in the path. She looked one way towards the road, and saw Buddy and his owner walking towards the vet. She stayed on the muddy path. She arrived in the parking lot just after Buddy and his owner. He waved.
He opened the door and a griffon terrier ran out.
The griffon terrier was covered in half-dried mud and its bone-shaped name tag glinted in the sunlight. The griffon’s owner ran out of the vet saying, “Peaches, get back here.” Loud but gentle – the voice of dog owners. Amber thought of her childhood pet. Dixie was a griffon terrier. Amber’s mother had tried hard to keep Dixie clean. Amber and her mother would clean Dixie together. Her father would say it was pointless to clean her because she’d just get dirty again. She remembered her mother taking care to make sure the bath wasn’t too hot or too cold. They’d each put their hand in the water and decide together when it was the right temperature. She remembered the sweet smell of the shampoo. A strawberry scent. Her mother would pour cups of water over Dixie, carefully avoiding her eyes, as Amber kept the dog calm.
For a short moment, it was as if her mother hadn’t left them behind. The world was warmer and brighter. Buddy ran after the griffon terrier. The two dogs played chase. And in that moment, she wasn’t a receptionist. She watched the dogs playing. She could see Dixie playing with them too. She was happy.
One of the doctors called from the clinic to get the dogs collected. The scene vanished. She scooped up the griffon in her arms and received a friendly lick on her chin.
“Nice work, Amber,” the vet said. “Take a few minutes to tidy up and you can start work when you’re ready.”
Chris Boyce is a writer from Ōtautahi Christchurch. He has a Masters Degree in Creative Writing from the University of Canterbury. He is very thankful to his writing group who continue to inspire him to keep writing no matter how busy life gets. He spends his spare time learning languages (currently te reo Māori, Japanese and Korean) and helping others learn English. Currently he is focusing on writing short stories and takes a break from that by writing a history of the world. Chris can be contacted at www.instagram.com/confusedfrish