Gran Ellen! shouted Matthew. Who let you keep a wolf in the village?
Ellen Stevens broke down in bitter tears as she stared at the ruined garden fence. So many times she had patched it up herself, hammering wobbly posts and nailing crooked planks, hoping it might last until she could save enough from her modest pension. But no, fate was cruelnow the fence had finally collapsed.
For the last ten years, Ellen had managed the cottage on her own, ever since her beloved husband, Peter Andrewson, passed away. Peter, with his clever hands and cheerful whistlewhile hed been alive, Ellen had never fretted over a thing. Peter could turn his hand to anything. Carpentry, plumbing, mending the old shed, he did it all himself. Everyone in the village respected Peter for his kindness and industry. Together they had built a life over forty happy years; they missed their ruby anniversary by only one day. The neat garden, the fine carrots and ripe tomatoes, the well-tended chickensall testament to their shared labours.
Their only son was Edward, the light and joy of their lives. Edward was taught the value of work from the time he could lift a broom. No one ever had to nag him to help. By the time Ellen came home, knackered from a day cleaning at the primary school, Edward had already brought in the firewood, fetched water, stoked the old stove, and fed the hens.
Peter, home from his shift, would wash up and step outside to smoke a pipe on the porch while Ellen made dinner. In the evenings they all sat around the table, sharing stories of the day, laughter mingling with cups of tea. They were happy.
But time marched on, leaving only memories. Edward grew up and left for London, sought an education, and fell for a city girl, Margaret. They settled in the capital. At first he came home for his holidays, but soon Margaret insisted they holiday abroad. Every year, they went somewhere sunny. Peter would grumble about it, shaking his head.
Wheres our Edward found such weariness? It must be Margaret filling his head with nonsense. What does he need with holidays?
His father brooded, his mother grew wistful. But what could they do but wait and hope for the odd letter from Edward? Then suddenly, Peter fell illrefused meals, visibly wasted away. The local doctor prescribed pills, but soon sent him home to get his affairs in order. That spring, as the woods burst into blossom and the robins sung in the hedgerow, Peter slipped peacefully away.
Edward came for the funeral, weeping hard, guilt gnawing at him for missing his fathers final days. He stayed for a week, then returned to the city. In the past decade hed only written Ellen three letters. So she carried on alone. The cow and sheep, once so loved, she sold to the neighbours. What use had she for livestock now? Daisy the cow lingered at the gate, listening as Ellen grieved inside. She would close herself off in the far room, plug her ears, and sob.
Without a mans hand, the place began to slide into disrepair. One day the roof leaked, the next the porch boards rotted through, or the pantry flooded after heavy rain. Ellen struggled, scraping together whatever she could for odd-jobs men, sometimes managing repairs herselfa village girl can turn her hand to anything.
She got by, just, until calamity struck again: her sight began to fail. She first noticed it in the village shop, squinting to read prices on a loaf of bread. Within months, she could hardly make out the shop-front at all. Worried, the district nurse urged an appointment at the hospital.
Mrs Stevens, do you want to go blind? The operation is safe, youll have your sight back!
But Ellen was afraid of the hospital, and refused. Within a year, she was almost completely blind, though she didnt fuss.
What use is the light to me? I just listen to the radio, I dont watch television anymore. The newsreader tells it as it is. Besides, I do things by memory here.
Sometimes, though, unease gnawed at Ellen. The village was no longer a safe, neighbourly place. Vagabonds and thieves prowled at night, breaking into empty cottages and looting what they could. Ellen worried for lack of a proper guard doga big, snarling beast to warn off intruders.
She asked Simon, a local huntsman:
Simon, you havent heard of any sheepdog pups about? I wouldnt mind a small one, Id raise it myself…
Simon, looking at her with a twinkle:
Gran Ellen, what do you want with a husky pup? They belong in the wilds. I could fetch you a fine pedigree German Shepherd from town, if you like.
I expect thatll cost a fortune…
Not more than money, Gran Ellen.
Well, best bring it by then.
Ellen counted out her meagre savings, sure it was just enough for a decent dog. But Simon was unreliablealways putting things off. Ellen chided him for empty promises, yet pitied him too. He was a lonely soulno wife, no children, only the bottle for company.
Simon, Edwards age, had never left the village. He couldnt stand the city. Hunting was his passion: hed vanish for days on end in the woods. Out of season, he worked odd jobsdigging gardens, fixing sheds, anything for a few pounds. But as soon as he got paid, the money went on drink.
After one of his benders, Simon would vanish into the woodsred-eyed and sickand then stagger back days later, arms full of wild mushrooms, blackberries, a salmon or two, bundles of pinecones. Hed sell it all dirt cheap, drink away the earnings, and the cycle began again. The drunk often helped Ellen with chores, for money or a hot meal. Now, with the fence caved in, she had no choice but to go to him once more.
Well, the puppyll have to wait, I suppose, Ellen sighed. Ive barely enough to pay Simon for the fence.
But Simon didnt come empty-handed. His battered rucksack, crammed with tools, also twitched and rustled. Beaming, Simon called Ellen over.
Look who Ive brought! He opened the rucksack.
Ellen reached in and felt the soft furry head.
Simon, a pup? For me?
The best there is! Purebred shepherd, Gran.
The little thing struggled to escape the bag, squealing. Panic fluttered in Ellens chest.
I cant afford this! Ive only got enough for the fence!
Well, hes not going back, is he? Simon winked. Do you know how much I shelled out for that dog?
What could she do? Ellen hurried to the shop, where the stern shopkeeper gave her five bottles of strong gin on tick and wrote her name in the debt book.
By evening, the fence was repaired. Ellen fixed Simon a hearty meal and poured him a tot. Loosened by drink, Simon pontificated at the table, gesturing to the puppy snoozing at the hearth.
Feed him twice a day. Get him a strong chainhell grow big and tough. I know my dogs.
And so, Ellen had a new housemate: Patch. The puppy snuggled up to Ellen and repaid her kindness with unwavering loyalty. Whenever she came into the yard, Patch bounced up, tail whirling, eager to shower her wrinkled face with kisses. Only one thing troubled herPatch grew enormous, the size of a calf, yet never barked. It upset Ellen mightily.
Oh, Simon! You rascal! You sold me a useless brute!
But what could she do? She couldnt throw such a devoted creature out. He had no need to barkneighbourhood dogs steered clear of Patch, who soon reached Ellens waist in height.
Then, one day, Matthew the local hunter popped by to pick up flour, salt, and matches for the coming hunting season. Passing Ellens gate, he stopped dead at the sight of Patch.
Gran Ellen! Matthew cried, Who let you keep a wolf in the village?
Ellen clutched her chest in terror.
Oh, heavens! How daft I am! That scoundrel Simon tricked me! Said he was a thoroughbred shepherd…
Matthew said gravely, Youll have to let him go, Gran. It could end badly.
Tears flooded Ellen’s eyes. How her heart ached to part from Patch! Such a gentle, loving beasteven if he was a wolf. Lately Patch had grown restless, straining at his chain, yearning for the wild. Villagers eyed him with dread. Ellen had no choice.
Matthew drove Patch out to the woods. Patch wagged his tail once and disappeared into the trees, never to return.
Ellen mourned her lost companion and cursed sly Simon, who in turn regretted the mess. Hed meant well all along. Wandering in the woods once, Simon had come across bear tracks and heard a plaintive yelp. He nearly ran, thinking of the mother bear, but heard the sound againa whimper, not a growl. Pushing through the brambles, Simon found a den. Nearby lay a dead wolf, torn by a bear, with mauled cubs all around. Only one had survived, hiding deep in the burrow.
Simon pitied the lonely thing. He brought it home, and later palmed it off on Ellen, hoping shed care for it until it grew and slipped naturally back to the forest. Meanwhile, hed find her a proper dog. But then Matthew ruined everything.
Simon hovered guiltily near Ellens cottage for days before mustering the courage to approach. Outside, winter raged. Ellen huddled by her little fireplace to keep out the cold.
Suddenly, a knock rapped at the door. She shuffled to answerand a stranger stood outside.
Good evening, Gran. Mind if I shelter for the night? I was walking to the next village but got lost in the storm.
Whats your name, son? My eyesights poor.
Boris.
Ellen frowned. Dont know any Borises in these parts…
Ive just bought old Mr Daniels house, Gran. Came out to check on it, but the cars stuck. I had to walkand then this blizzard hit!
So you bought Dan Daniels old cottage, did you?
He nodded. Thats right.
Ellen welcomed the stranger in, put the kettle on. She never noticed how his eyes roved hungrily over the antique sideboard, where country folk often stashed their savings and trinkets.
While she busied herself by the stove, the stranger started rifling through the drawers. Ellen heard the squeak.
What are you doing there, Boris?
Oh, you know, the moneys changed recently! Thought Id help you get rid of the old notes.
She bristled. Rubbish. Theres been no such reform! Who are you, really?
The man drew a knife and pressed it to her chin.
Hush, Gran. Hand over your cash, jewellery, foodthe lot!
Ellen froze in terror. She was at the mercy of a criminal. Her fate seemed sealed…
But then, the door crashed open. Bounding ingiant, wild-eyedwas Patch. The wolf leapt at the thief, who shrieked. Only a thick wool scarf saved his neck from the animals jaws. In desperation, the thief lashed out, stabbing Patch in the shoulder. The beast snarled and dodged away, buying the burglar just enough time to escape out the back.
Outside, Simon was just passing, plucking up the courage to make peace. He spied a man running madly, knife flashing, curses flying. Inside, he found Ellen shaking, and blood pooled by Patchs side. Simon understood at once and rushed for the village constable.
The thief was caught and sent straight back to prison.
Patch became a hero to the villagers. Food was left for him, greetings called out. No one chained him againhe roamed free, but always returned to Ellen, especially after hunting trips with Simon.
Then one day, a black Land Rover parked outside her gate. Someone was chopping wood in the yard. It was Edward, her son. Spotting Simon, he threw his arms open wide.
That night they all sat around the old table, Ellens face glowing with joy. Edward had persuaded her to come to London at last for the operation to restore her sight.
Well, if I must… she sighed. Young Daniels coming for the summerId like to see my grandson. Simon, mind the placeand Patchfor me, will you?
Simon nodded. Patch curled contentedly by the hearth, warm head on his paws, exactly where he belongedamong friends.
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