I leaned down towards the old sheepdog. She looked at me with a weary, resigned gaze, then turned away. She had long ago given up hope. She knew all there was to know about peopletoo well, perhaps.
On the street, everyone simply called them the dog gang. But I would always correct them: Theyre not a gang at all. Just five dogs whove stuck together, trying to survive.
Their leader was the old sheepdog. Clearly, she was once someones pet, probably abandoned without a glance back. She kept the others close, protected them, guided them, and made sure this little street family never fell apart.
Every day, I made sure to feed themmornings on my way to work and evenings when I returned. The moment I appeared, five wagging tails would start spinning wildly, some curled, some trailing low, like spinning windmills. The happiness in their eyes was enough to make my own heart ache. Theyd jump about, nuzzle my palms with their cold noses, lick my hands. Their eyes held everythinggratitude, trust, a fragile hope.
What could a dog hope for, once shes been left to die on the streets? Still, they hoped. They trusted. They loved. Thats why I never came to them empty-handed. They waited for me. And they always waited.
But that morning, only four dogs darted up to greet me, tails wagging but with an edge of nervousness. They whined, glancing anxiously towards the far end of the road. Instantly I knewsomething was wrong.
With a heavy sigh, I rang work and explained Id be late.
At the very end of the long street, on the outskirts of London, under some shrubs, I found the old sheepdog. Shed been hit by a car. Theres a bend there, and the occasional driver flies by without slowing. This time, luck ran out.
The other four dogs howled, exchanging worried glances with methe one human theyd learned to trust.
I crouched beside her, tears streaming from her sad old eyes. She gave me that resigned look again, then looked away. She had stopped hoping long ago. She understood humans all too well. What troubled her most, I think, was what would happen to the four shed always protected.
Does it hurt? I asked softly, taking out my mobile.
Arranging time off, I fetched the car and carefully lifted the sheepdog onto the back seat. The others stuck close, pressing their noses to my hands, as if to say thank you.
At the vets, the doctor examined her and shook his head sympathetically.
It would be kinder to put her to sleep. Too many fractures. Very little chance shell pull through. The treatment will be expensive
Theres a chance, though? I interrupted.
Theres always a chance, the vet admitted, but shell suffer. Is it worth it?
It is to me, I said firmly. Its worth it to her, too. Besides, four others are waiting for her. How could I look them in the eye if I gave up?
The vet studied me for a moment, then nodded.
Alright, lets begin.
A week later, I collected the sheepdog from the clinic. The entire time, the other four dogs barely left my doorstep. Their cries of joy when I reappeared with her were so loud, even the sheepdog, still sore and limping, tried to lick her friends in greeting.
I carried her inside, then stepped out to face the others and delivered a little speech. I explained that a home came with responsibilities, and that the things theyd grown used to on the streets would have to change.
They sat before me, listening intently. Suddenly I stopped, grinned, and threw open the gate.
Well then, what are you waiting for? Come on in.
The sheepdog recovered more quickly than Id hoped. She was always trying to stand up and join the others, but I made certain she didnt overdo it. Once her bones had healed and she could walk confidently again, I fastened a special collar around her necka golden one with a tiny bell.
Now, I leave for work a little earlier. I walk down the long, quiet street with five dogs on leads: four small, cheerful ones with curly tails, and the old sheepdog in her golden collar and bell.
If you could see how they look around now. They have a home. And she has her collar. The sheepdog walks with her head held high.
You wouldnt understandnot unless youve ever worn such a collar with a bell. But any dog can see: this is how one walks when they are respected.
Thats how we go each dayone person who didnt just walk by, and five dogs who never stopped hoping or loving, despite all the betrayal theyd known from humans.
We walk and we are happy. What for, I really couldnt say. Maybe for each other. Maybe for the sunshine. Or maybe simply for the fact that there is still love left in this world.
And looking into their eyes, I know: so long as such eyes exist, not all is lost.
