“Blimey, Barnaby, come ‘ere, lad!” William dashed out of the car toward the old Labrador lying motionless by the roadside. But Barnaby didn’t stir, didn’t wag his tail. The awful truth hit William like a ton of bricks—his old mate was gone. “What on earth am I gonna tell Mum?” he thought, kneeling beside Barnaby’s lifeless body, hot tears splashing onto the dog’s grizzled muzzle.
***
Margaret’s old dog had taken an instant dislike to her daughter-in-law, Charlotte. Right from the first meeting, he’d growl deep in his chest whenever she walked past, thumping his tail nervously against the porch boards. Charlotte, in turn, was wary of him and quietly despised the creature.
“Ugh, useless old mutt… If it were up to me, he’d have been put down ages ago,” she’d mutter under her breath.
“Char, don’t say such things!” William would chide. “Maybe he just doesn’t like your perfume or the click of your heels. He’s an old boy—eccentric, like all old gents.”
Margaret would just shoot Charlotte a disapproving look. If that flighty girl only knew what Barnaby had done for this family! He’d earned his keep ten times over, unlike her.
***
Margaret had always stayed out of her son’s affairs. Even when he introduced Charlotte, she bit her tongue, though something about the girl rubbed her the wrong way. There was a falseness to her smile—all teeth, no warmth.
“So, Mum, what d’you think of Char? She’s a stunner, isn’t she?” William had asked eagerly.
Margaret had sighed. “You’re the one marrying her, love. As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters. You’ve got my blessing.” She’d hugged him tight, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
After the wedding, the couple moved into Charlotte’s flat—inherited from her late aunt. Visits to the countryside grew rare, though William missed it terribly. Charlotte hated the place, preferring luxury holidays, and he hated arguing. But this summer, she’d suddenly fancied a “back-to-nature” retreat.
“I read that eco-tourism does wonders for stress!” she’d declared, packing designer wellies. “All that fresh air, no screens—it’s all the rage! And since it’s ridiculously expensive, I thought—why not your mum’s cottage?”
William jumped at the chance. Working remotely, he packed in a flash, and within days, they were pulling up to the old stone house.
Margaret welcomed them warmly. “About time! Proper rest here, none of that package holiday nonsense.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Charlotte sniffed. “By the way, Margaret, do you have livestock? Real rural immersion’s key for authenticity.”
Margaret blinked. “Well, there’s Barnaby and the chickens. Had a nanny goat too, bless her, but she passed last year.”
Charlotte wrinkled her nose at the old dog dozing on the sunny porch. “I meant useful animals. Not some geriatric has-been. Surprised he’s still kicking, honestly.”
“I’ve a big veg patch, if you’re after real work,” Margaret said tartly.
“Right, we’ll dive in tomorrow,” William cut in. “I’ll chop wood, fix the fence—proper country break. Let’s turn in for now.”
As they lugged their bags inside, Charlotte’s heels sank into the dirt, making her curse. Barnaby lifted his head and rumbled a warning. She yelped, dodging behind William.
“Don’t take it personal, Barns,” William chuckled, scritching the dog’s ears. “She didn’t mean it.”
Barnaby wagged, nosing his old friend’s hand.
***
Next morning, Margaret showed Charlotte the ropes. “Weeds go, carrots stay. You’ve seen a dandelion before, surely?”
“How should I know? I’m not a botanist!” Charlotte snapped, sweat staining her posh athleisure, nails ruined. An hour in, her back gave out.
“That’s enough! This isn’t wellness—it’s serfdom!”
Margaret sighed. “Still want to meet the hens tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow never!” Charlotte hobbled inside—only for Barnaby to bare his teeth on the porch.
“That beast hates me!” she ranted to William later. “What if he bites?”
“Barnaby’s never bitten a soul! You’ve wounded his pride, is all.”
“Should I grovel, then?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You’re mad.”
Margaret tried mediating. “Pet him, love. He’ll come round.”
“As if I care what that mongrel thinks!”
Margaret sighed. Barnaby’s instincts were spot-on.
***
One sleepless night, Charlotte wandered out to stargaze. Rustling in the bushes—then a snarl!—sent her bolting straight into a nettle ditch.
William hauled her out, skin blazing. “What were you thinking?”
“Your precious ‘gentle’ dog tried to maul me!”
“He was guarding! Could’ve been a fox!”
Next day, Charlotte paid a local to “lose” Barnaby. “Dump him far enough that he can’t find back.”
The bloke pocketed the cash, asking no questions. Work was scarce; money talked.
***
“Will, have you seen Barnaby?” Margaret fretted. “He never strays far…”
They searched all day. Nothing.
“Where’s he gone?” Margaret crumpled onto the porch, weeping.
“Honestly, he was ancient,” Charlotte said. “Probably wandered off to die. Get a new one.”
“Barnaby wasn’t just a dog,” Margaret choked. “Will—lift your shirt. Those scars—remember?”
“From a childhood burn, you said…”
“Burn? It was a fire! You were five—I was at work, Granny watching. Barnaby dragged you out unconscious, beams crashing. He couldn’t save her… You forgot, but I didn’t.”
“Bloody hell… I’ll find him,” William vowed.
Charlotte slunk off, sneering. Sentimental drivel!
Alone with her, William cornered her. “Tell me what you did.”
A fist slammed the table. She cracked.
William was at the man’s door at dawn. “Take me where you left him.”
Bumping down backroads, William finally spotted—
“Barnaby! Here, boy!”
But Barnaby didn’t move.
“Tough old bugger—walked miles from where I dropped ‘im,” the man said.
William cradled his lifeless friend. “How do I tell Mum?”
Margaret wailed when she saw Barnaby wrapped in William’s jacket. They buried him under the apple tree by his beloved porch. Charlotte left soon after.
“You’re divorcing over a dog?!”
William loaded her bags wordlessly.
“When are you coming back?”
“Dunno. If ever.”
***
By autumn, the divorce was final—Charlotte had already moved on. William returned to Margaret, stopping at a rescue first.
“You’re sure about this pup? He’ll be big—not a flat dog.”
“Positive. He’ll have fields, a cosy home, a sunny porch to laze on…” William nuzzled the wriggling bundle. “What d’you say, Barnaby?”
A lick answered him. Deal sealed.
