Julia sat beside the entrance of her block of flats. Every neighbour knew that the family from number 22 had gone away for ages, and now a dog had moved into the courtyard, stubbornly determined to wait for their return.
It all began in the early 1990s in a small English market town. On a crisp June morning, the screech of car brakes shattered the quiet outside the local bookshop. Shop assistants dashed outside, but the street, save for a few scattered shoppers, was strangely empty.
Lying by the curb was a dog. She whimpered softly, struggling in vain to stand; her hind legs refused to obey.
Emily, the boldest of the young women, darted to the animal. She knelt, murmured gentle words, and stroked her muzzle and spine, trying to grasp what had happened.
“Well, Em, whats the verdict?” Sarah and their manager, Mrs Margaret, hung back, hesitant, afraid to witness something gruesome. The dog bore no visible wounds, but the way her legs dragged, limp and useless, suggested a grave injury.
“Girls, lets carry her into the stock room,” Emily suggested. “She might recover. We cant just leave her here.”
Sarah glanced at Mrs Margaret, who hesitated then agreed, “Right, Ill fetch something for her to lie on Will you manage?”
“Ive got her,” said Emily, testing her grip.
The dog was a medium-sized mongrel with a hint of collie about her, scruffy and thin, without a collarmost likely a stray.
She lay all day beneath the shelves in the bookshops back room. By evening, though still traumatised, she drank water and nibbled at foodnever rising. She was unable to move.
The next day, Emily convinced her father to pick her up during his lunch hour and take the injured dog to the local vet.
The town boasted only a tiny clinic, with little more than the basicscertainly no X-rays. The vet could offer little hope. “Shes young and strong. Care for her well, shell live,” he said gravely. “But walk again? I doubt it very much.”
The ride home was silent. Emily sat in the back, cradling the dog, while her father glanced at them through the mirror, sighing. Over dinner, he said, “Em, just dont get too attached. And dont let her get too comfortable. Were moving in the autumn, remember.”
“I know, Dad,” Emily murmured.
They named the dog Julia. And so she lived in the bookshops stock room. For two weeks she barely rose, then she began to crawl into the yardher lifeless back legs trailing behind her.
“What should we do? She wouldnt survive out on the street, but none of us can take her home” the assistants pondered. “At least Mrs Margaret lets her stay here.”
Julia herself seemed untroubled by her hardship, busily exploring, sniffing at everything, taking care of her needs and then returning to her spot.
On weekends, the girls would each take Julia home for a night, except Emily, who always refused; their move to the far north of England for her fathers job was drawing near. He was rightattachment would only make leaving harder.
But Emily knew she was attached already. From the moment she met Julias forlorn gaze amidst the traffic. Julia now watched her in a special way, full of warmth and unwavering trust.
One weekend, though, Emily had no choice but to take Julia; the others all had plans.
“Just this once!” Emily pleaded when her father frowned. “Everyone else is off travelling, having barbecues or going on picnics”
“We were meant to be heading to the cottage too,” her mum chimed in from the kitchen.
Julia scampered in straight away, seeming to guess Mum was the one whose approval she needed to win. Her dragging hind legs already evoked pity, but Julia topped it off with that tragic, hungry stare, and within minutes Mum was fussing, “Poor darlingare you hungry? Do they not feed you at the shop, Emily? Never mind, youll come with us to the cottage. Dads got charcoal ready for the barbecue, youll love it”
Emily shot her dad a meaningful look, but he simply shook his head.
Out at the cottage, Julia was in heavenbarbecue treats, the neighbours dog Max, who welcomed her as an old friend. The next day, back at the flat, Julia curled up by Emilys bed with the ease of one who had always been there.
Her return to the shop next morning seemed almost traumatic. Julia grew anxious in the stock room, and when let out at lunchtime, vanished entirely.
The helpers called for her and looked everywhere, but Julia did not return by closing time.
Emily was frantic. She walked home, calling at every step, “Julia! Julia, where are you? Come out”
She found Juliabarely aliveright outside their own block. It was clear the journey had exhausted her. On seeing Emily, Julia erupted with joy, shrieking and licking her hands, wriggling so wildly it was as if her tail might just wag again.
There was no point taking her back to the shopshe knew the way home now. Besides, Emily could never shut her away again.
“And what now?” her father asked, gazing at the jubilant Julia at his daughters feet.
“Im going to care for her, Dad. And I hope youll help me.”
Emilys holiday started in a week; after that, shed quit her job. She planned to spend her remaining summer months with Julia.
Her father drove them several times to the county vet centre, which had an X-ray machine and proper facilities. No promises were made, but the surgeons agreed to try an operationthere was hope.
Emily and Julia moved into the cottage. Emily dedicated every moment to her: medicine, massages, exercises. Julia almost learned to walk anew.
At first, it seemed hopeless. But Emilys parents, visiting often, noticed small improvementsher legs no longer lay completely limp, though they sometimes splayed out awkwardly.
Within a month, Julia was trotting after Max, comically lopsided but mobile. A month later, only a slight limp remained.
Emily was overjoyed, but her heart ached at the thought of parting. Time was running out.
Maxs owner, Mrs Green, offered to look after Julia, “Leave her with me, love. She and Max will keep each other company, and she knows the placeshe wont pine so much.”
The morning of departure, Emily led Julia to Mrs Greens cottage to visit Max. That evening, her family boarded the train for London, then caught flights north to Newcastle, settling at last in a new town.
After unpacking, Emily rang Mrs Greenand heard the words she dreaded most.
Julia had sensed something was wrong and dug at the fence all night. By morning, only Max remained in the garden. Mrs Green drove to Emilys old flat.
She found Julia by the building entrance. Julia recognised her, but growled softly, refusing to move. The neighbours gatheredeveryone knew the family from number 22 had gone for good. Now, there was a dog outside, deciding to wait. For as long as it might take.
Emily called another neighbour, Mrs Oakley from number 23, who kept her updated. “Julias out front, like a sentry! She wont let anyone near. Ive tried everythingeven sausage, but she wont budge!”
Emily tried to send Mrs Oakley money for Julias food, but she firmly refused: “No need, Emily! The whole block feeds her. No need for money”
Winter came. The residents, including Mrs Oakley, often let Julia in, so she could warm herself. Shed hobble up to the third floor, where number 22 was, and lie on the doormat before the closed door. It was as if she understood the family hadnt returned, and when shed warmed up, shed head outside to resume her silent vigil.
Emily kept in touch with the bookshop girls, who sometimes visited to check on Julia. Julia welcomed them, accepted treats, but steadfastly refused to leave.
Emilys heart broke; she wanted desperately to come home, but her familys situationtight finances, commitmentskept her in the north. Times were hard in the 90s, and people survived as they could.
Emily finally returned in June. Approaching the block, she saw Julia: ears alert, frozen, her body shivering slightly; shed recognised Emily already but was afraid to hope, lest happiness should vanish.
They embraced, both in tears, entirely overwhelmed. It felt as if their hearts would burst from sheer joy.
Summer flew by. In August, Emilys parents arrivedher father had a months leave; in September thered be another year-long posting. Emily pleaded to bring Julia with them. Her mother glanced at her husband, who frowned, sighed. The journey would be long and arduous, even for them, let alone for a dog unused to travel or city noise.
Emotions ran high. Julia sensed the tension, grew anxious and stuck close to Emily. Then one morning, her father broke the silence: “Get her ready, Em. We need to arrange her papers. No travel without jabs.”
The vet stamped a pet passport for Julia and noted her vaccinations in exchange for several jars of chutney. No time for proper procedures.
That evening, her father stitched Julia a muzzledog gear was nearly impossible to buy then. Julia, whod never worn such a thing before, sat patiently during fittings, as though she sensed the moments importance, glowing with pride and excitement.
“Its settled, Julia,” he said as he finished the final stitch. “Youre coming with us. Just, dont let us down”
Julia never let them down. The family never regretted their choice. They travelled by train, weathered airports and transfers; Julia flew with them on military planes around the north, visited Scottish islands, even landed on the Hebrides. After a year, the family came home.
Julia lived alongside them for thirteen blessed, brilliant yearsforever loyal, always by Emilys side wherever she went.
