Gran Alice! cried Matthew. Who allowed you to keep a wolf in the village?
Alice Stevenson wept bitterly when she saw the ruined fence. She had patched it with planks and mended the rotten posts so many times, hoping it would last until she could save enough from her meager pension. But it was not to bethe fence had finally toppled.
For ten years, Alice had managed her smallholding alone, ever since her beloved husband, Peter Andrewson, passed away. He was a real craftsman, a carpenter and joiner, and while he was alive, Alice worried about nothing. All repairs were taken care of in their neat cottage, the garden flourished, and the animals thrived, all thanks to their shared toil over forty happy years, missing their ruby anniversary by just a day.
They had one son, George, their pride and joy. From childhood, he was hardworking and never needed bribing to help. If Alice came back weary from the dairy, George had already fetched water, chopped wood, stoked the fire and tended to the animals.
Peter would return from work, wash up, and stand on the porch to smoke his pipe while Alice finished supper. Evenings were for family meals, sharing the day’s newstheir home was happy and content.
But time slips away, and only memories remain. George grew up and left for London, earned his education and married a city girl, Lucy. They settled in the capital. At first, George would visit during holidays, but later Lucy insisted they travel abroad instead, every year. Peter was upset, unable to understand his son’s choices.
Where’s our George gotten so tired? Lucy’s filled his head with nonsense. What’s he need with all those travels?
Father grieved, mother pined. All they could do was hope for letters. Then, Peter fell ill. He refused food and grew weaker daily. Doctors prescribed medicine, but eventually sent him home to live out his days. That spring, when the woods were alive with birdsong, Peter passed away.
George came for the funeral, tears flowing, blaming himself for not seeing his father one last time. He stayed the week, then returned to London. In the past ten years, he wrote to his mother only three times. Alice was left on her own; she sold the cow and sheep to neighbours.
What good were animals now? The cow lingered at Alices gate, listening to the old ladys sobs. Alice shut herself in the far room and cried.
Without a man’s hands, the place suffered. The roof leaked, damp rotted the steps, water flooded the cellar… Alice tried her best. She saved pennies for repairs and sometimes managed aloneshe had grown up in the country and knew how to do most things.
She scraped by, barely making ends meet, when disaster struck againher eyesight deteriorated alarmingly. She struggled to read prices at the village shop and months later could barely make out the sign.
The village nurse arrived and insisted on a hospital check-up.
Mrs Stevenson, do you wish to go blind? They’ll do an operation and your sight will return!
But Alice was frightened by the thought of surgery and refused. Within a year, she was almost blind. Still, she shrugged it off.
What do I need sight for? I listen to the wireless, not watch the television. The announcer reads the news and I follow well enough. I get by at home on memory.
Still, sometimes worry gnawed at her. The village seemed to attract more unsavoury folk these days; thieves would sneak into empty houses and take what they could. Alice feared she lacked a good dog to frighten off trespassers with its bark and fierce presence.
She asked Simon the local gamekeeper:
Simon, do you know if the rangers got any pups? Id take even the smallest. Ill rear it myself…
Simon gazed at her curiously:
Why do you want a husky, Gran Alice? They need to be out in the woods. I could bring you a proper pedigree sheepdog from the city.
I bet those cost a fortune…
Not dearer than life, Alice.
Well then, bring one.
Alice counted her savings and hoped itd stretch for a good dog. But Simon, ever unreliable, kept postponing the promise. She scolded him for empty talk, but deep down pitied hima lonely man, neither wife nor child, and fond only of the bottle.
Simon, the same age as George, had never left the village; he felt stifled in the city. Hunting was his passion. He could vanish in the woods for days.
When it wasnt hunting season, Simon worked odd jobsdigging gardens, carpentry, repairing machineryand spent whatever he earned from widows on drink.
After a bender, Simon would traipse off into the woodsbleary, ill, and sorry for himself. He’d return days later with a bounty: mushrooms, berries, trout, or pinecones, selling them for pennies and squandering the money again. The drunkard helped Alice with chores toowhen paid. Now, with the fence down, she had to seek his help once more.
Looks like Ill have to postpone the dog, sighed Alice. Must pay Simon for the fence, and funds are tight.
Simon arrived not empty-handed.” His rucksack wriggled strangely among the tools. Grinning, he called Alice over.
See what Ive brought you. He opened the rucksack.
Alice reached in and touched a soft, furry head.
Simon, youve brought me a puppy? she gasped.
The finest of the finest. A purebred sheepdog.
The puppy squeaked, wriggling free. Alice panicked:
But I barely have enough for the fence!
Cant take the poor thing back now, Gran Alice! protested Simon. Do you realise how many pounds I forked out for him?
What could she do? Alice dashed to the shop, where Mrs Carter let her buy five bottles of spirits on tick, jotting her name in the debt book.
By evening Simon finished mending the fence. Alice fed him a hearty lunch and poured him a drink. Cheered by his favourite tipple, Simon sat at the table, pointing at the puppy curled by the hearth.
He needs feeding twice a day. Buy him a sturdy chainhell grow healthy and strong. I know dogs.
So Alice gained a new companionSpot. She grew fond of the pup, and he returned her love. When Alice stepped out to feed Spot, he leapt with joy, licking her face. But one thing troubled herthe dog grew so massive, almost calf-sized, yet never learned to bark. This worried Alice.
Oh, Simon! You rascal! Sold me a useless dog.
Not much could be done; she couldnt throw out such a sweet creature. Bark or no bark, the neighbours dogs wouldnt dare challenge Spot, who in three months reached her waist.
Then one winter, Matthew, a local hunter, visited the shop for supplies. Walking past Alices cottage, he stopped dead at the sight of Spot.
Gran Alice! cried Matthew. Who allowed you to keep a wolf in the village?
Alice clasped her hands in dismay.
Oh heavens! Im so daft! That trickster Simon hoodwinked me! Said it was a thoroughbred sheepdog…
Matthew was solemn:
You must release him into the forest, old dear. Otherwise, there might be tragedy.
Tears welled up in Alices eyes. How it hurt to part with Spot! Such a gentle souleven if he was a wolf. Lately, hed been restless, pulling at the chain, desperate for freedom. People eyed him fearfully. There was no choice.
Matthew took Spot deep into the woods. The wolf wagged his tail and disappeared amidst the trees. No one ever saw him again.
Alice mourned her companion and cursed Simon. Yet Simon was sorry too; he’d meant well. Once, wandering in the woods, hed found bear tracks. A plaintive squealing came from nearby. Ready to leave (knowing where cubs are, the mother will be near), the sound struck him as oddnot quite bear-like.
Parting the bushes, he saw a den. There lay a dead she-wolf and, scattered about, her mauled cubs. Evidently a bear had attacked. Only one pup survived, tucked in the corner.
Simon felt sorry for the orphan and took him home, later passing him to Alice, thinking the wolf would eventually run off to the woods. Then hed find her a proper dog. But Matthew had ruined his plan.
Simon loitered near her cottage for days, unable to knock. Winter raged outside. Alice kept the fire burning, anxious for the cold.
Suddenly, a knock. Alice hurried to open the door. A man stood on the porch.
Good evening, madam. May I stay the night? I was on my way to the next village but got lost.
What’s your name, dear? My eyes aren’t what they were.
Boris.
Alice frowned.
I dont know any Boris in our village…
Im not local. Just bought a cottage. Tried to check on it, but my car got stuck. Had to walk, and with this blizzard
So you bought old Danley’s house?
The man nodded.
Thats right.
Alice invited him inside and set water for tea. She did not notice the way his eyes lingered greedily on the biscuit tin in the dresserwhere country folk kept money and little valuables.
While Alice fussed at the stove, he began rummaging through the dresser drawers. Alice heard the creak.
What are you doing there, Boris?
Oh, currency reform! Im helping you get rid of old notes.
Alice scowled.
Nonsense. No reforms happened! Who are you really?
He whipped out a knife, pressing it to her chin.
Keep quiet, old bag. Hand over cash, gold, food!
Panic overcame Aliceit was a criminal on the run, and her fate hung in the balance…
Suddenly, the door burst open. In charged the huge wolf, flying at the thief. The man cried outthe thick scarf saved his neck from a bite. He slashed at Spots shoulder and ran. Spot leapt to the side, giving the villain just enough time to escape.
At that moment Simon was approaching, intending to apologise. From the gate, he saw a stranger fleeing with a knife, cursing the world. Simon rushed to Alices side. There lay Spot, bleeding. Simon understood immediately and fetched the constable.
The burglar was caught and sentenced.
Spot became the village hero. People brought him treats and greeted him warmly. He was never chained now and roamed free, always returning to Alice, especially after hunting with Simon.
One day, a black Land Rover parked outside her cottage. On the drive, someone was chopping woodher son George. Seeing his old friend, Simon, George embraced him.
That evening they sat round the kitchen table, and Alice glowed with joy. George persuaded her to go to London for the eye surgery.
If it must be done… she sighed. My grandson comes this summerI want to see him. Simon, look after the house and Spot, will you?
Simon nodded. Spot curled up beside the fire, head on his paws, happy to be among friends.
And that, I suppose, is how it all was, long ago, amidst the changing seasons and familiar faces. The tale passed through the yearsof love, loyalty, and all the small miracles that bind us together.
