Gran, Mary! I called out as I entered the garden. Who said you could keep a wolf in the village?
Mary Taylor burst into tears when she saw her fence in ruins. She had patched it with planks and mended the rotting posts countless times, hoping it would hold long enough for her to save a bit more from her tiny pension. Fate, however, had other ideas. The fence had finally collapsed.
It had been ten years since Mary had run her cottage alone after her beloved husband, John Taylor, passed away. His hands were, as they say, worth their weight in gold. While John was alive, Gran Mary never worried about much. John was a jack of all tradesa true craftsman, both carpenter and joiner.
He fixed everything himself, so there was no need to call anyone in. In the village, people respected him for his kindness and hard work. Together, John and Mary had lived in harmony for forty blissful years, missing their anniversary by just a day. Their tidy home, abundant vegetable patch, and healthy livestock were the fruits of their labour side by side.
They had one precious sonEdward, the pride and joy of their lives. He learned the value of work young, never needing a nudge to chip in. When his mother returned weary from the fields, Edward had already fetched the firewood, drawn water, lit the range, and tended the animals.
John, after coming home from work, would wash up and sit on the porch with a pipe, while Mary made supper. Evenings saw them around the table together, swapping stories about the day. Life was good.
Time, as always, marched on. Edward grew up, left home, and headed for London to pursue his education. Before long, he married a city girl named Harriet, and they settled down in the capital. At first, Edward would visit his parents for holidays, but soon Harriet began suggesting foreign trips, so every year hed holiday abroad instead. John grew upset with his son, unable to comprehend Edwards new ways.
What on earth has worn our Edward out so? Must be Harriet putting ideas in his head. Whats he need with all these travels?
Father fretted; mother grieved. There was nothing for it but to live and hope for a letter from Edward. But eventually, John Taylor fell ill. He refused food and grew weaker each day. The doctors prescribed treatments, but soon enough, they simply sent him home to live out his days. That spring, just as the woods filled with the song of thrushes, John quietly passed away.
Edward came home for the funeral, weeping bitterly and kicking himself for not seeing his father while he still lived. He spent a week in the old family home before heading back to the city. Over the next ten years, he wrote to his mother only three times. Mary was left truly alone. She sold the cow and the sheep to her neighbours.
No need for livestock now. The old cow lingered by the yard, listening as Mary sobbed within. At those times, Mary shut herself in the furthest room, covered her ears, and wept less.
Without a man about, things began to fall apart. The roof sprung leaks, the porch planks broke, sometimes the cellar flooded. Mary did her best. Out of her pension she saved for repairs, sometimes managed work herselfafter all, shed grown up in the countryside and was no stranger to hard graft.
So life went on, barely scraping by, until trouble found her again. Suddenly, Marys vision deteriorated, although shed never had those troubles before. She visited the village shop and struggled to make out product prices. Months later, she could scarcely see the shop sign.
The nurse came and insisted she go for a hospital investigation.
Mary, do you want to go blind? The doctors can operate and restore your sight!
But Mary dreaded an operation and refused. Within a year, her sight was almost gone. Still, she didnt fuss too much.
What use is seeing, anyway? I dont watch the telly, only listen in. As long as I hear the newsreader, I catch the gist. I manage the chores by memory.
But sometimes she grew uneasy. The village had seen an influx of troublesome folk lately. Burglars often prowled deserted cottages, taking anything not nailed down. What worried Mary mostshe lacked a good dog, one to scare off unwelcome visitors with a bark and a snarl.
She asked Simon Hunt, the local gamekeeper,
Simon, reckon the rangers got any puppies? Just one, even a small one. Ill raise him up right
Simon, always keen on the woods, eyed her curiously.
Mary, what do you want with a spitz pup? They belong in the woodlands. I could fetch you a proper sheepdog from town.
But a sheepdog must be expensive
Not more than a bit of cash, Mary.
Well, then, bring one over.
Mary counted her coins and decided she had enough for a good dog. Yet Simon, unreliable as ever, kept on postponing. She scolded him for his empty promises, but deep down, she pitied himno family, no children, and his only companion, the bottle.
Simon was the same age as Edward, but never left the village. The city was too cramped for him. His passion was stalking game; he could vanish in the forest for days.
When hunting season ended, Simon took odd jobs about the placedigging gardens, patching up woodwork, fixing tractors. Money from lonely old women was spent right away on drink.
After a bender, hed retreat to the forestbloated, sick, and ashamed. In a few days, he returned with mushrooms, berries, fish, pineconesselling them for pennies before promptly spending the lot again. The village drunk, he still helped Mary about the cottagefor pay, of course. Now, with the fence collapsed, she had no choice but to lean on him once more.
Looks like the dog will have to wait, sighed Mary. Ill have to pay Simon for this fence, and moneys tight.
Simon arrived with something moving in his backpack besides tools. Grinning, he waved her over.
Look what Ive brought for you. He opened the pack.
Mary approached and felt a soft, furry little head.
Simon, is it really a puppy?
The finest of the lot, a true pedigree sheepdog, Gran.
The pup squirmed, trying to wriggle free of the bag. Mary panicked,
Ive only got enough for the fence! Barely that!
Can’t take him back now, Mary! argued Simon. Do you have any idea how many pounds I forked out for this dog?
What to do? Mary was forced to dash to the shop, where the shopkeeper let her have five bottles of strong drink on tick and jotted her name in the ledger.
By evening, Simon finished the fence. Mary served him a proper meal and poured a dram. The drunk, cheered up by his tipple, went into a lecture about the puppy, curled up by the stove.
Feed him twice a day. Get him a strong chainhell grow big and bold. I know dogs like the back of my hand.
And so a new lodger arrived in Marys cottagePatch. The old woman doted on him, and he responded with pure devotion. Each time Mary stepped out to the yard to feed Patch, he bounced up in joy, ready to slobber kisses on her face. Only one thing bothered herthe dog grew almost as big as a calf, but never learned to bark. This worried Mary.
Oh, Simon! You rascal! Sold me a useless dog.
But what could she do? You cant just turn out such a gentle soul. Barking hardly mattered; even the neighbours dogs dared not yelp at Patch, who by three months was nearly up to Marys waist.
One day, Matthew Green, another village hunter, popped in for groceries, salt, and matcheshunting season was nearing its winter start, when the men disappeared into the woods for months. Passing Marys cottage, he froze at the sight of Patch.
Gran Mary! Matthew cried. Who gave you permission to keep a wolf around here?
Mary clutched her hands to her chest, horrified.
Oh Lord! What a fool I’ve been! That trickster Simon deceived me! Said this was a thoroughbred sheepdog
Matthew was deadly serious.
Gran, you better let him loose in the woodshe could do real harm, if not.
Marys eyes welled with tears. She hated the thought of parting with Patch. Kind, gentle creature, even if he was a wolf. Yet lately, Patch had grown restless, straining at his chain, yearning for freedom. The villagers watched him warily. There was no choice.
Matthew drove the wolf to the woods. Patch wagged his tail, melted into the trees, and was never seen again.
Mary mourned her pet and cursed that cunning Simon. Simon, to his credit, felt regrethe had meant well. Once, roaming the woods, hed stumbled onto bear tracks. In the distance, a plaintive squeal. Usually where there are bear cubs, a mother bear is never far, but the noise was different.
Parting a clump of brambles, Simon found a den. Nearby lay a dead she-wolf and her mauled cubsa bear, it seemed, had attacked. Only one tiny pup survived, hiding deep inside. Simons heart went out to the orphan. He brought him home, hoping Mary would care for him, and thought the wolf would eventually wander back to the woods. Then he planned to bring Mary a genuine dog. But Matthew had upset those plans.
For days, Simon circled her house, unable to face her. Snowstorms raged outside, and Mary kept the stove stoked, lest she freeze at night.
One evening, a knock came at the door. Mary hurried to answer. A stranger stood outside.
Evening, Gran. Might I bed down here tonight? I lost my way heading to the next village.
Whats your name, dear? My eyes arent what they were.
Benjamin.
Mary frowned,
Dont recall any Benjamins in our village
Im new, Gran. Just bought a house here. Tried to visit but my car got stuck, so I walkedand in such a blizzard!
Did you buy old Mr. Clarks cottage?
The man nodded.
Thats the one.
Mary welcomed him in and put the kettle on. She never noticed how greedily Benjamin sized up her old display cabinet where villagers kept their cash and trinkets.
As Mary busied herself by the stove, the visitor crept toward the cabinet. Mary heard the creak of its doors.
What are you up to, Benjamin?
There was a currency change, Gran. Im helping you get rid of old notes.
Mary stiffened.
Rubbish. No such thing happened! Who are you, really?
The man pulled out a knife and pressed it under her chin.
Quiet, old lady. Hand over your money, jewellery, and food!
Terror gripped Mary. She realised she was face-to-face with a felon on the run. It seemed her fate was sealed
Suddenly, the door burst open. In bounded a massive wolf, leaping onto the robber. He shrieked, but his thick scarf shielded him from the worst of the bites. The thief grabbed his knife and stabbed the wolf in the shoulder. Patch leapt aside, and the robber fled.
At that moment, Simon was arriving, intending to apologise. Outside, he saw a man with a knife running away, muttering curses. Simon rushed to Marys side to find Patch on the floor, bloodied. Realising what had happened, he ran for the constable.
They caught the burglar, who soon found himself doing another stretch in prison.
Meanwhile, Patch became the village hero. People brought him food and greeted him like an old friend. He was free now, no chains, yet always returned to Mary, coming home after hunts with Simon.
One day, a big black Range Rover pulled up near her cottage. Someone was chopping wood in the yard. It was Edward, Marys son. Seeing an old mate, he flung his arms open for a hug.
That evening, the family gathered around the table, Mary glowing with happiness. Edward convinced her to come to London for an operation to restore her sight.
Well, if its needed the old lady sighed. The grandsons coming in summerId like to see him. Simon, look after the cottage and Patch for me, alright?
Simon nodded. Patch settled in by the stove, perfectly content. His place was at home, among friends.
Today, I realise that sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places, and kindnesswhether toward human or animalfinds its way back to you in the end.
