Feeding time

Flourescent light and juvenile artwork made from patty cake cases give way to darkness and a threat of rain. The cold blast of night air as the automatic doors slide open makes me shiver momentarily.

As I walk to my car, magic-button key in hand, I misstep, twisting my ankle slightly. I grimace, massaging the painful spot. Not for the first time I wonder why I wear high heels.

The car is cold. When I turn the key the display on the dash shows it's 15° outside. I push the gear stick in to reverse and exit the car park. I have an errand to perform before I can go home. Before I even get to the first set of traffic lights—less than a block away—I can feel the increase in my heart rate, the tightness in my chest and the sickening tingle in my fingers on the steering wheel.

My breathing is shallow, the lights turn green and I have to suck air in like a landed fish just to kick the car in to gear to go. Two blocks on and the cars either side of me are apparently driven by people with no spatial awareness. Already on the verge of panic, I hit the brakes unnecessarily. The discs bite the wheels hard, causing me to lurch forward in my seat as the car bunny hops like I'm a learner driver.

"It's ok. He'll be glad to see you. He's lonely. Just breathe." I repeat this mantra-like until I turn in to the street I'm looking for. I can never remember exactly where the drive way is to the house I'm visiting. It's almost at the top of the street but I always slow down the block before. I guess once you learn a routine it's hard to break the habit, even when it's wrong.

There, the disintegrating white '87 Nissan Pintara in the front yard is my marker. I pull in to the drive way, it's long and there's another white car ahead of me. A Mazda 626. The curve of the boot and spoiler in stark contrast to the rectangular lines of the earlier model Pintara out the front. Its aerial is bent, giving it an eccentric air.

I've barely turned the ignition off when the headlights of yet another vehicle spotlight me. The back up is here.

"Good timing." I call as I get out, forcing myself to be calm. I breathe the chilling air deeply, fishing in my hand bag for keys to the front door.

"Very good timing. How was your day?" He asks, coming to stand close to me. I shrug, "It was a day."

We walk up the cracked concrete to the porch. Up two steps, I squint in the glare of the porch light as I wriggle the key in the lock. It opens and I swing it wide to enter the house. I have learned to bear the assault on my nostrils, but tonight I mistime the breath I usually take before entering. I get a nose full of old pot, animals, rising damp and a hint of general decay. The smell is better than it used to be I remind myself. At least it no longer feels quite like a third tenant, with a full physical presence slapping visitors in the face on arrival.

The note is still on the table. I drop my hand bag next to it and make for the back door, keys in hand. On the way past the bench I grab a dog treat from an open packet. My body guard follows close behind in to the laundry, where he collects the bag. The light is on outside. I don't remember leaving it on last time. I have to use the key to unlock the back door, it's an old house.

At first I can't see it. Then he slinks out of the darkness, head down, tail wagging. He looks so forlorn I don't recall why I was so frightened. I command him to sit, he does then gently takes the dog treat. This is progress. Previously he's grabbed it, sharp teeth coming too close to my fingers for comfort. My companion fills the bowl with food and replenishes the water while I keep the beast from harassing him. Unusually, the dog obeys, lying down away from the bowl until we go back in to the house.

I lock the door behind us and begin to breathe more easily. I feel bad that I was fearful, he looks so lonely in the dark. I know though, that complacency could kill me. Just like the fear.