Inside, I fix Nandi dry toast. It is her favourite thing to eat. When I set it down at the table, she starts to hum. That means she’s happy.

“That good?” I ask.

“Mmmmm,” Nandi hums back, before taking a bite.

I shake my head. The child would eat only toast if she could get away with it. Nandi won’t eat anything mushy or soft, be it soup, porridge, or even mango. In the world of Nandi, you see, food has to crunch like a carrot, or at least be firm, like rice. She won’t even eat bread untoasted – it has to crunch or she’ll scream. Understand, this child can scream for hours and hours if she’s really upset. Like if you put a shirt on her that still has a tag on it, she’ll scream and scream and scream until you rip the tag off. Yho, I’m surprised any of us still have our hearing left.

“Want to do anything, Nandi?”

She ignores me, taking another bite of toast.

I pick up my phone and scroll through my messages. They can be summed up in one sentence: Everyone is having a good time without me.

“Mmmm,” Nandi says, and I look up to find her giving the dog some of her toast.

“No feeding him at the table,” I tell her.

Both she and the dog ignore me, as Silwane gently takes the offering and swallows it in one quick gulp.

She claps her hands as I sigh.

Feeding dogs at the table is gross, but at least she is happy, neh? Hard to know what goes on her head. But since Silwane arrived, she does scream a lot less, sleeps better, and doesn’t demand to be held all the time. She’s getting heavy, and the only people she’d let hold her were Mama, Tata, Melusi or me. Now, she walks around, as long as Silwane is by her side. So much easier, you see. She’ll even let us leave her with a neighbour, now and then, so long as she has her dog.

“Yip!” Silwane’s ears are perked, high alert.

I get up and race outside. Sure enough, those blasted goats are back, and chewing on the laundry. “Hayi!” I yell. “Shoo!”

A squeal catches my attention and see Nandi and Silwane have followed. Her face is lit up, all smiley. This child loves animals, even smelly goats who eat laundry.

“Silwane,” I order, and point to the goats.

The dog obediently trots over and gives a bark.

The goats scatter, and Nandi waves good-bye to them. But will she wave hello or good-bye to a human? Never! Hayi!

“Good dog,” I tell Silwane.

He wags his tail as he returns to Nandi. And it is true, he is a good dog as far as dogs go. Silwane was Mama’s employer’s idea. The white woman had heard of a not-for-profit organisation that supplies specially-trained dogs to people with special needs. So Mama filled out forms and brought Nandi in to be examined by some weird doctors. Nandi just screamed at them – until they brought this dog into the room.

My little sister latched onto that dog like a life line and it calmed her right down. Anytime she gets frightened, or anxious, there is the dog, Silwane, cuddling close to her, helping her understand it is all right. She also flaps her hands less, and doesn’t sick her fingers in her ears to block out sounds as often.

A bird lands on the laundry line and Nandi stops and stares at it. Her little mouth makes a perfect O.

“You like the birds, Nandi?”

She hums.

At least birds are better than goats.

***

Tell us: Do you know any children like Nandi? Had you ever heard of ‘therapy’ or service dogs, like Silwane?